Assassin's Creed 3: The Kahnawake Song II
by Zipporah.Michel
Summary: "Do you not think it strange that you are the only ones that seem sure of something while we, too, are sure of something. You call us mad and we think you a loon. Yet it seems that we are both telling the truth here. Looks to me that we are all mad here or maybe it's just you." AC3-DLC Connor/OC (Spoilers Warning, Adult Content, Blood Gore, Adult Language, Sexual Content)
1. Sequence 01: Rabbit Hole

_"All around me are familiar faces  
Worn out places, worn out faces  
Bright and early for their daily races  
Going nowhere, going nowhere…"_

* * *

_The young one was unsure was has become of her father. One moment they were finished hunting in the woods, sitting around a campfire:_

"You know, _ista _(mother) always talks about smores, but doesn't have the ingredients to make them," the young girl tossed her food up and down in her hands, "But I guess that's why she's so short compared to you, right _raké:ni_ (father)?"

Her father took pride that she was starting to hunt very well as he; shame that she learned faster than his eldest son. It seemed that his daughter took after him more. She had his eyes and his skin for sure along with his humility rubbed off, but she carried her mother's fears. Finally, he reached out for her arm, beckoning her to stop playing with her food. Alas, she carried her mother's "charming" attitude and infectious habits.

"Enough. Now eat the meat you've caught."

"Calm your tits; I'm eating it," she gnawed at the bear meat that stained her small hands, "I didn't tell you this before, papa, but I took down three wolves out here. Too bad my brother can't. Hee-Hee, don't I have the biggest dick?" her father punched her shoulder and she grunted.

"I will not tolerate that language."

"Why not? Mom tolerates it. She says that's why you fell in love and married her." He watched her with his chin in the air. His daughter did the same with a cocky smirk on her face. Truly, the mix of she and him reflected in her. "Fine. I will…_speak proper English and expunge any vulgar, profane terms in my vocabulary_."

"How your mother educates you worries me. There was not a day where she would use her _colorful_ language around you as an infant."

"There was also not a day where she says that you're such a virgin, too." He narrowed his eyes at the mention, signaling her to quiet herself. The little one burst out laughing after a while. Her father didn't take to kindly to that, swiftly pulling her into a headlock and rustling a mess out of her hair. She laughed even harder trying to get out of it with the wrestling techniques he taught her, but there was no way that she could take on the master. He was larger, more built while she was as light as a feather. Once she was out of breath, she leaned into her father's arms—the forest around them in the stillness of their bonding, the campfire sparking every few seconds, and the noiseless moon beaming. The young one yawned, her eyes fluttering until they fully closed. The last she heard of the forest was the galloping of the forest floor…

….

And then she awoke here. In the midst of destruction, she saw men in blue coats pushing civilians into a house as sulfur and gunpowder violently reached her nostrils. Crimson and black filled the sky. Fire burst out of every house that stood. Deafening cries of people spiraled all around her. She wanted to get up, to run, but her legs were rooted to the ground as her nerves were frozen to the bones. Never did she think that she would be here or wanting to tear-up. This was too much. Eventually, she was knocked over into the brittle grass below her. Her face was smeared into the depression of earth that was left by heavy cannon-fire. She tried to get herself together… it was no use.

"This is too much," she whimpered into the ground, "This is too much, I'm just one kid…"

"Oi!"

"Huh?" she lifted her head to the hollering of large men. They, too, were blue-coats. One standing over was rather old—middle aged, bending down, taking the little girl abrasively by the arm. She started to curse and scream in his face.

"Don't fucking touch me! Do you know who my father is? He will not take kindly to—"a large hand whacked her across the face.

"Well, do you know who we are, girlie? We are the King's men. And if you want his mercy, you better apologize. Eh, nigra?" She responded by spitting at his face. She had too much pride to be looked down upon. The blue coat didn't take that too kindly. He wiped his jaw as he glared at her, and then pulled her by the collar. "I'll be right with you gents. I just have to give this little mutt a lesson."

"'Mutt'?" some of the others laughed.

"Well, look at her face," he took a handful of her delicate jaw as she struggled, "She looks like a savage and a bit of a nigra. Guess the jungle fruits and the forest fruits have been makin' some breedin', eh? Never tried a mixed-fruit before. Best to try now." He pulled her aside. She wasn't going to have any of that. The soldier threw her over his shoulder and she continued to kick and scream, but refused to cry. He traveled up the hill, away from the fire and the flames to a desolate opening of the woods, not too far from his post. Crudely, he dropped the girl to the undamaged grass. On her back, she saw the sky that was a little ways into the night. Her lip curled up in anger. She was confused as to where this place was. Surely, wherever she was it couldn't be home. The revolution was over or so her parents claimed. Her mind was brought back to reality when she felt her ankles being pulled forward then forced apart. Her eyes narrowed and waited for the man to drop his trousers. Now! She knocked her foot into his pelvic region, causing him to curl in pain.

"Serves you right!" she stuck her tongue out for good measure and tried to run off, but more men suddenly appeared out the darkness of the woods. They stared down at her with ravenous faces, approaching her with muskets in hand. There was no way she was going to win this fight. She lacked the physical feat to overcome men of such size. She knew for she could never match her father. A sudden impact to the side of her head pushed her into the ground once more, giving her no time to call for help. Her hands twitched as she failed to rise to her feet.

"Heh. Serves you right, ya savage nigra. Thought you could run from me. Didn't your parents ever teach you to respect adults?" Again, she spat at him; only now, it was blood. "Looks like I'll have to teach you some manners. Starting with some obedience." Struggling was futile. The other men held her down, pulling her hair, stepping on her neck, and gave her no quarter—but she did not cry nor whimper. She refused to beg for her life. It was what she was always taught and that is what she would always keep to. Where she was is a mystery. Perhaps she'll never know especially now that she was within an inch of her life…

* * *

_There was a murmur of voices all around. A familiar warmth... A soft surface beneath her. Had the Faceless One taken her already? At least the pain was gone. But then she found herself breathing steadily. Her chest was rising and falling. The beat of her heart sounded in her ears. In a matter of seconds, her eyes opened to the wooded interior and felt the heat of a small bonfire nearby._

"Ratonhnhaké ton, look," a native woman caressed the child's face with a soft cloth that washed her wounds, "She is waking. I told you she was not dead."

The native man sighed in relief as if he was holding his breath this whole time. He and his mother were scavenging the woods of the blue-coats who were in search of a Mohawk woman with braids. Of course, he did not know how he came to place either. He was an assassin and the people of his village left years ago. How could this be? And what's worse, his mother was here and _she_ was here. The native man carefully took the young girl in his arms, glad that he spilled the blood of those men who dared to lay their dirty hands on her. Her eyes fluttered before completely focusing on the immediate visage. She knew this hard, muscled feel of flesh anywhere. Above was a defined face that heaved with worry. She tried the best to crack a silly smile to cheer him up.

"Hey…" she coughed, "Papa. Stop frowning like that… _ista_ will think you a woman." She brought her hand to her cheek, feeling a tooth come loose. "Where are we?" Ratonhnhaké ton embraced her even more that she still recognized him, yet it did nothing for his worries. Never did he imagine his own child would come to such a chaotic world and be entangled in its wrath. It was enough to see his mother here—alive—but it was too much to bear to see his own flesh and blood suffer. His mother rose to her feet, gathering all she had used to treat the child, watching her son questionably.

"Ratonhnhaké ton, who is this girl? And why does she call you '_papa_'?" Perhaps in this place she would not know nor would she. His mother kept eying the child suspiciously. Ever since they found her in the woods, she couldn't stop looking into her face. This girl carried her son's eyes and skin tone. She appears native at first, but… she seemed a bit of a stranger. "You have barely left this village long enough to make these overnight."

"Papa, who is she?" the girl raised her chin as he would in question. He deeply sighed.

"Mother, this is my daughter—_Tsyoka'wehkowa_."

"_Blythe_, papa. Mom calls me Blythe."

"Same difference." The native woman waved both of them off until they sat in silence. This puzzled her to no end.

"I do not understand. My son you had a daughter this whole time and did not tell me? Then who is the woman she belongs to? Do I know her?" Both relatives looked innocently at each other before looking to the elder woman once more. The little one sat up straight, looking her in the eye.

"You didn't tell me your name yet, _akhso_ (grandmother)," she pouted.

"I am Kaniehtí:io," she sighed as she walked to the entrance of the room, "I am off to speak to Clan Mother. I must persuade her to not use the tea this time. If she does, then bad things will only come of it." As she left, she spoke to another woman a bit taller than her, nearly sharing the same face structure. They both spoke with such urgency, but it was difficult to hear them. The other stranger nodded and came in through the entry-way. Poking through, the small child thought it to be the same woman from before until her father spoke.

"What of the warriors, Aghanashimi?" he asked boldly, "Did Clan Mother say anything?" She held her hand against the sturdy walls, hesitant to answer. It was better for him to hear it from his own mother; or rather, his own ears. Her nephew seemed so distant since he had returned with his mother from Concord. Perhaps what he has seen was enough to last him an entire lifetime. More so was this strange child that was brought in. Her twin sister explained how he claimed her to be his daughter, but how could this be so? He has never left the village long enough for a child of his to… Never mind how it was so. She knew her nephew to be clever anyway. She walked in, sitting herself beside the two.

"Clan Mother and your mother are both stubborn women," she threw another piece of thick branch into the fire, "But she is right—the tea is dangerous. It is how your uncle became lost to us. He thought me a fool to disobey Clan Mother's wishes to say nothing. It pains me to remember. For your own sake, love, do not drink that evil drink." Her brow wrinkled, "A blessing to our people, _hmph_. It is an abomination to our people." She turned her attention to the little one in his arms. Ah, little _Tsyoka'wehkowa_. She had eyes like her father.

"I do not know what is happening, Aghanashimi. Why George Washington is called 'King'? Why is all this chaos here? Do you know how—"she raised her palm to silence him. Her eyes softened, unsure.

"The only thing that is sure is that he has gone mad. I have seen enough, I must say. I have seen enough." Her face was worn out from the chores she had done during the day—chores that will forever haunt her. Even her own daughter would not look to her. Where she was is beyond her. When she looked to the little one in her nephew's arms, she smiled the best she could for the child was staring curiously at her. "Ziio told me of you, little one. I will not speak ill of your father of this, but it surprises me. Whoever your mother is surely a beautiful woman, though, I take that she is not of the Iroquois or native at all, is she? I am Aghanashimi. I am your great-aunt."

"_Kwehkwe _(Hi there)…" she snuggled into her father's arms more, feeling a bit awkward. Her great-aunt laughed. The girl would think that her grand-parents would be old and grey when, in fact, they were vibrant and youthful in appearance. It made her wonder how she would age very slowly, muttering on how she'll still look the same as a teenager. The fire was feed more branches before the woman finally excused herself to see Clan Mother again. Blythe released all the tension she was feeling in that very moment, so she scrambled out of her father's arms to sit beside him. First, she watched his posture before mimicking. "You look very sad, _raké:ni_. You saw that town on fire, too? I don't remember Concord looking like that. You said it was a quiet place to live. You and _ista_ fought there once."

"Yes, we did. But this should not be. Washington was never like this. I do not understand. This cannot go on. And I thought you would die…" he petted her disheveled head of hair. She furrowed her brows at the memory.

"I didn't get raped, did I? Because if I did, I am going back there to piss on their corpses."

"Oh no," he sighed, "Nothing has happened to you. Mother confirmed it."

"I'm still gonna piss on their corpses," she raised her chin and relaxed quickly, "But what's really strange is that this village is filled with… natives." She wasn't too sure how to word it. She most likely had relatives here. "I thought they were moved by the new government. Still… it's kind of cool to see some of my roots here."

"I am glad for that as well, but you are not safe here, Tsyoka'wehkowa."

"Neither was home with the occasional bandit breaking the window and trying to steal some horses—"he took her by the shoulders, looking her in eye to let her know that he was serious.

"You are not safe here," he pressed every word, "Should something happen…I do not know what I would do should something happen to you as it did tonight."

"I know," she pouted, "You would split everyone's head open like a melon with that tomahawk of yours." Her father shook his head at her response. Perhaps his beloved has told her one too many stories of their time together before they decided to settle. This place… this world he was in severely confused him. "So… let me get this straight. Washington—the man you worked with during the revolution—is now a tyrannical king? I thought he retired, papa."

He dusted himself off as he got to his feet, willing to see his mother of this matter. What was more his people's actions of resolution to defend themselves against him. No one didn't exactly tell him what this Great Willow was nor what it does to those who drink it. All he knows of it now was that the warriors of his tribe were to consume it while his mother forbade him to. Seems his daughter thought the same.

"Are you going to the Clan Mother now, papa?" she didn't turn to look at him. His silence was enough for an answer. "I'll wait here then—"

"Ratonhnhaké ton," Ziio dashed to him, taking his arm.

"Mother, what is it?"

"Clan Mother wants to see this child we have brought here." Blythe promptly walked out past the two and stood outside with her arms crossed. Ziio scoffed at the child's boldness, reminding her of a certain someone. "Come, little one. She wishes to see your face."

* * *

Outside was very dark save for the bonfires and torches lit for all to see the village. It did not do much to block out the view of the stars, however. All around were the longhouses that her parents once brought her and her brother to. Her heart swelled to see so much activity now as her father did. At the center of the village, she thinned her eyes, seeing a small group gathered around a campfire. Ziio urged her to keep walking towards them as the small group lifted their heads to their arrival. Aghanashimi rose to her feet, coaxing the young one to not be afraid. Her eyes widened at the sight of the elder woman who held a long staff, watching back at her intently. There were so many years of wisdom and leadership in this woman's eyes.

"Come closer," the elder spoke, "I must see her face."

She obediently walked close enough by the flames so her face was better contoured. In the light, her freckles and light tone of her skin appeared vibrant. Her eyes gleam a light brown along with her curly hair bouncing softly in the wind as she nervously pursed her lips. Ziio looked back at her son quickly, hoping that Clan Mother wouldn't think to dispose of this child. She was already mad at her for other things she has done without her consent.

"You have Ratonhnhaké ton's eyes—the eyes of a warrior; his mother's spots along your face…" she looked closer, "But the rest of you must be from whoever your mother may be. I feel as though I have seen your face before. Hmm…" she adjusted herself in her seat, "What is your name?"

"Tsyoka'wehkowa," she barely blinked.

"_Tsyoka'wehkowa_," she mumbled, "For one your age, I would think you a woman. It is a good sign. Ziio tells me how there was barely a tear on your face when she and Ratonhnhaké ton found you. You are strong."

"Crying is for babies. I'm turning nine—ista told me that it's time to 'man-up'." Clan Mother raised her brows. The others smirked in amusement, silently marveling this child's pride before looking back at her father.

"Your parents have raised you well. Ratonhnhaké ton!" he came around, pulling his child back, "She may stay, but her mother I must see as well. I welcome her to Kanatahséton." He nodded. Ziio brushed past his shoulder, gladly taking this moment to speak. The village leader has been avoiding this issue as if it was meant to be overlooked. She spoke often like there was no other way. Ziio had to say it.

"Clan Mother! You will listen to what I have to say. You cannot have the warriors drink the tea of Great Willow. Do you know what that tea does to those who drink it or have you forgotten? My son and I have handled ourselves well without it. We have taken down Washington's men—"

"How many, Kaniehtí:io? How many? Five? Ten? _Fifteen_? Thousands will come and thousands will march to this village and destroy us," she seethed, pointing her staff towards her, "_Thousands you awoke_."

"She was not wrong to stop Washington, Clan Mother," Aghanashimi interfered, "Whether she has done something to anger him or not, he would take this land from us and raze our village. Staying out of his way will not—"

"I will not hear your excuses, Aghanashimi. Your husband knew the stakes. The tea of the Great Willow is the reason we have survived against the harsh tyranny of invaders the many moons we have been here. I have made my decision." She would not listen to any more the other women would protest. Ziio scoffed, turning on her and spoke with her back turned.

"Do as you will, but my son will not drink that tea." And she took her son's arm roughly once more out of frustration to their home by the riverbank. Along the way, she would curse to herself in Mohawk how that old woman would never listen or learn from past mistakes. Her granddaughter bit the inside of her cheek, pretending that she didn't hear any of the profanity Ziio was spewing. The young one wondered if what Clan Mother said was true as they walked away—that her father would die as her grandmother would. It caused her stomach to turn.

"What would you have us do, mother?" Ratonhnhaké ton asked. "We have no other choice but to fight." His mother sucked in a lung full of air to answer calmly.

"I know," she watched his child cling to him; "I have something that will help—something from your father."

"My father?"

"He left it for you long ago before he died. And you, Tsyoka'wehkowa will need something to use to protect yourself should some terrible omen follow you."

….

They returned to the longhouse by the riverbank with a purpose. Little the young native knew that they were all in great danger. She almost brushed off the offer of any weapon to defend herself for her own mother would often say that there was no need, but her father would say otherwise. Ziio handed her the special hunting knife that was a part of her just as any other limb of her body. She told her to always have it ready for use. One could never know when it would save you at best. She then looked to her son, turning to her personal belongings. As she rustled through her things, Tsyoka'wehkowa pulled on her father's arm; she jumped a little as she heard thunder and lightning outside, then rain begin to pour down.

"Grandmama is pretty hardcore for talking to the Clan Mother like that. Mom was right—your side of the family is full of badasses," she whispered.

"Cease the vulgar language," he hissed back.

Ziio brought out some strapping that both natives have seen before. It held out for them to see. "Your father was part of an order. A secret brotherhood—"

"I know who my father was and I know what those are," he took them in his hands to strap onto his arms. His mother grew puzzled, demanding of how he knew of this. In fact, there were many things that confused her of him: this girl they rescued claiming to be his daughter amongst others. "I cannot explain. Everything is all wrong here! All of this should not be. _You_ should not be. I watched you—"an explosion sounded from outside near the center of the village. Ziio paled in realization of what it would obviously be. She scrambled through her belongings once more in search of a weapon until she picked up a spare knife.

"Ratonhnhaké ton, come with me. Tsyoka'wehkowa, stay here and if Washington's men try to come here to take you, you must run to the ends of the forest and do not look back."

"But _akhso_…"

"Do as I say. Your father and I must fight. Come, my son." She fled out into the rain. The native man took his daughter's shoulders so that she could face him.

"I shall return. Remain hidden as well as you can."

"You promise to come back?" she restrained herself from tearing up and he cupped her face in one hand.

"You have my word."

And then he left to fight—him and his mother. If there was anything Blythe knew from her own mother was that she should always listen to her father. Tiny bumps on her skin rose as much as the hair on her neck did. She kept out of sight so the soldiers would not see her. The sight in itself was hell on earth. Every longhouse was set aflame and the blue-coats kept pouring into the village. Ratonhnhaké ton swung his tomahawk back and forth mercilessly into the helpless bodies of the enemy. They were no match for his quickness. Such a sight would frighten any child, but not Tsyoka'wehkowa for she knew her father, in the end, to be good at heart. Each violent splatter of blood did not faze her nor change her perspective of him. Essentially, his brave killing sprees fascinated as it did her older brother. Such thoughts were cut short as she smelled thick smoke build up along the walls. She froze for moment and turned to see that the house was starting to come ablaze. Instinctively, she ran out the front entrance, knife ready in hand. Her feet were light, so the soldiers did not hear anyone leave.

Once she got away to catch her breath, she found herself in the middle of a full-blown warzone. Both the enemy and members of the tribe fell as their blood soaked the soil beneath them. The grip on her grandmother's knife tightened until she felt her delicate skin break, but she cared little of it. When a blue-coat came towards her, she hesitated for a moment. She had never killed a man before. It was always her father or her mother, or those they worked with that would murder those that stood in their way. She had spilled the blood of animals, praying and thanking them afterwards, yet this was different. Her feet dug into the ground and when the knife clasped in her hand was ready to dig into the flesh of another—the man before her groaned in pain, falling to his knees as he curled in his own red essence.

"What are you doing out here?" her father roared, retrieving his weapon from his victim's back, "I told you to stay inside."

"They are burning the house, papa. There is no place to hide. And where is grandmother?" She darted her eyes around the chaos, covering her ears to the dying screams. Another blue coat made his way to the two. The girl's father twirled his weapon in his hand before digging it into the flesh of his opponent. He took a moment to catch his breath, looking to his daughter's side. Suddenly, her eyes lit up and pointed somewhere that he was curious to follow. Ratonhnhaké ton felt his heart stop as he saw Washington ride in from the entrance with Benedict Arnold and General Putnam by his side. What's more was that his mother was there defying them once more. In act of her rebellion against the king, she readied herself to charge at him. When she took off, her knife was brandished in hand to end the Mad King… but it was no use.

To her son's surprise, Washington lifted his staff in the air and it emitted a radiant gleam of light that spiraled at his will, phasing fatally through Ziio. In a pain-stricken grunt, the perilous wisps of light passed through her body, taking all the living breath out of her. Ratonhnhaké ton watched in horror as she fell hard to the ground and did not rise after. He felt his own breath stifle.

"Mother!" he yelled after her, falling upon her neck. Although, now was not to time to weep. He looked up to her murderer as he did once before, "Washington…"

His daughter knew better than to mess with higher power. She knew it for every time she smelled it, her head would ache. General Putnam boasted as he ventured through the village on horseback to kill all of the savages and to take no prisoners. The little girl watched as her father dared to go up against Washington's strength, constantly calling for him to retreat, but it was no use. Trying to put his hands on this madman was an effort in itself; let alone getting near him. For every step her father would take towards him, he was always forced back by a surge of light that channeled the patterns of the Piece of Eden. She remembered those markings—seen them even. She sprinted as fast as her little legs could carry her through the battlefield until she was at his side. His back was to the ground, worn out from challenging the man he once called "friend." His heart sank as he saw his daughter hover over his body.

"Tsyoka'wehkowa… you must not stay here..." he gripped her arm, but much of his strength was quickly leaving him.

"Papa, don't fight Washington! He's too strong—"another man's strength pulled her back unwillingly. She kicked and screamed as the mad king came over her father, placing his scepter on his side to pull out his dual pistols. Without a second thought, he shot the native man in the chest with both flint-locks. And claiming it to be for good measure, he took a bayonet, burying it into his victim's torso and shot him point blank. The girl screamed and cursed even louder. Finally, she turned and bit her captor's thumb, causing her to be pushed to the ground.

"This savage is a live one, my King," Arnold shook his hand from the pain. The mad King smirked as she pleaded for her father not to die.

"If you are so determined to have him back, savage, then I shall give you the release of death that you pine for."

_He raised his scepter once more, gathering the power he willed before unleashing it upon the helpless girl…_

* * *

**So... here you have it people-the sequel. Don't worry all your favorite non-canon characters are coming back; that's why this is still rated for Romance and M+. Just wanted to introduce little ****_Blythe_****("joyous")****/****_Tsyoka'wehkowa_**** ("raven")**** first. Anyway, some people actually wanted me to continue the whole Connor/Tsipporah shipping. Calm down, dudes. Still doing it, but... like everyone else in the DLC-absolutely no idea who "Connor" is. In fact, he's just "Ratonhnhaké ton" again since he never became an assassin. **

**Did anyone else think the DLC had some "Alice in Wonderland" allusion? :D**

**Ratonhnhaké ton=Alice**

**Kaniehtí:io=White Rabbit**

**Clan Mother=Caterpillar**

**Washington=Red Queen**

**Blue Coats=Card Soldiers**

**Great Red Willow Tea="Drink Me" Bottle**

**Apple of Eden Scepter="The Jabberwocky"?**

**I'm just sayin'... XD**


	2. Sequence 02: White Rabbit

_"Oh, Alice, dear  
Where have you been?  
So near, so far or in between?  
What have you heard?  
What have you seen?  
Alice, Alice, please, Alice…"_

* * *

Blythe held her father as much as her short arms would allow her while his body bled from the precise gunshot wounds. They were fatal indeed for all shots were to his chest. Even more was the girl's grandmother was face down in the dirt and her skin was growing cold. There were no wounds or signs of struggle—Ziio was taken by a supernatural force. The girl secretly feared that she was next. King Washington came towards her with his dangerous power in hand; ready to ruthlessly banish all of the girl's living breath. Looking to her father's body, she did not want to leave while his body was still warm. She closed her eyes, laying her head against his, waiting for the end… but… it can't end. Not like this…

_"I don't want to die… I don't want papa to die…__**I don't want to die!"**_

Suddenly, a gust—or perhaps, an invisible force—pushed back the remaining blue coats who meant to advance into the native territory as well as the Mad King and his confidants. Such a force threw them harshly to the ground that the Mohawk warriors may have thought them dead. That was not the case and they knew it deep down. This was a perfect chance; a chance to retreat for there was nothing else here for them. They must go where it was safe and the warriors knew where. Blythe peeked through one eye then the other. Something in her relaxed as she found the soldiers around her unconscious. But then there was a sudden tug of her arm.

"Come, child," Clan Mother boasted, "We must go where it is safe! Our brothers know where."

"But papa is..."

Clan Mother quickly looked over his body, seeing the grave wounds he received. "His body is still warm. We shall have our warriors see if something can be done, hm? Now come. It is not safe."

Promptly, warriors retrieved the injured as fast as they could, dragging every last able body out of the village and deeper into the forest. A fellow warrior came to Blythe's side, throwing Ratonhnhaké ton over his shoulder and nodding to the girl to walk with Clan Mother. The old woman wore a sad smile, patting the young girl's back as they made it out as quickly as they could. There was no time to spare—not even for the dead to their dismay. The hike was long and treacherous due to the rare use of torches lest they be found by the scouting party of the king's men. Aghanashimi kept rubbing the girl's head as she, too, was worried for her nephew's fate. Surely, he was drowning in his own blood as he was carried about.

"How are you doing, Tsyoka'wehkowa?" she kissed her hair as the child's face grew stern. She looked up to her great aunt for a moment before looking ahead with sharp eyes. "You are not shedding a single tear even after all that has happened. You are a brave girl. Your father has raised you well."

"And he will keep raising me," she quickly answered.

"Yes…" the great-aunt huffed, "That is what I hope."

"I do not hope!" she stomped in her tracks, "I do not hope. I do not pray. _I act_. My father will not die. He will not die so easily, do you hear me? He will not die!"

Aghanashimi was sworn to silence. Her nephew's daughter was quite the character for her age. She walked proudly as he would and never weep to the sight of blood nor succumb to opposing forces. The tribe continued their way until they reached a large cave. Warriors of the clan hurried in with the wounded to lay them to rest to be treated. Blythe sat close to her father as the warriors laid him on the soft soil, staring him down as if that alone would wake him. Her tiny hand caressed his cheek as the other was careful not to come in contact with his wounds. Clan Mother sat beside her, but she made no movement to acknowledge her presence.

"You are special, child," she started, taking the child's bloodied hands in hers, "You stopped those men without lifting a single finger. There is a power you wield, yes?"

"My _ista_ said that she has some great power, too, like my father and his mother. She said it was from some great spirit."

"I see. Your mother does not sound human."

"Ista did not think so either…"

She continued to stare blankly to the somewhat dead body before her. It worried her to no end of her father's fate. That mad king was merciless against those who dared to oppose him. Her native father was strong and willing—how could he lose so easily? All those years of training he's had were for naught. However, all was not lost. Whatever was sleeping within her awoke with a vengeance to sweep away all who would harm her. She did not know something like this was in her possession. Clan Mother feared that with her power, the Mohawk tribe would be endangered more as well as be protected with a new, unsuspected strength. The elder woman carefully rubbed the girl's shoulder.

"Perhaps with some time to yourself, you will learn what these powers are. One day, they may help you. Now come with me as our brothers tend to your father." She nodded as she stood on her feet to follow the village leader. It was a strange comfort for she has never known her native family before nor has she with her mother's side. The circumstances were all wrong for her, though, she imagined that her father was somewhat happy to see his people still in the area. Where they were, the cliff-sides were desolate save for the animals either running about or the fowls in the sky when they exited the cave. A full moon illuminated in the midst of beaming stars. In the child's mind, she would form constellations that she was taught. "Do you know of the Great Red Willow tree?"

Blythe was cut from her thoughts as Clan Mother called. She shook her head timidly. "It gives our warriors strength—unimaginable strength. Such power is needed for them to take down the mad king. I know your father will recover from his wounds. And when he does, he must drink from the virgin boughs. It is the only way he will fight."

"That's nice and all…" she sassed, "But my papa is already a strong warrior and a fabulous hunter." Clan Mother narrowed her eyes as she would speak to Ziio, but Blythe went on. "That's a nice offer, but we'll have to pass. My papa's too stubborn to die."

"Do you not see how he could have been killed fighting the mad king as he does?" her voice rose, "You are as stubborn as the boy's mother. Child, understand that he will face a fate worse than death if he tries to fight the mad king again in his current state."

"Then he can use me!" she blurted, "I have stopped the mad king's rage for a little while. If I hone my skills just a little more—"

"There is no time!" Clan Mother huffed to catch her breath, pointing at the child with her staff, "And you will not speak to me as such. I am your elder. Your mother has not taught you nor hasn't your father taught you our way?"

**"My ****_father_**** taught me to think for myself,"** She pressed every word, "And he is not wrong for teaching me something so valuable. First of all, I respect my elders, but I'm not going to acknowledge someone who spits on my parents necks and deem them naïve. And I sure is hell ain't gonna let someone call my father a 'boy'."

Clan Mother thinned her lips at the girl's attitude. She had a strong sense of pride that was rare in children who were raised in the village. Never has a child ever talk back to her in such a way save for Ziio. Her grandson surely chose the wrong bride if their child was so rebellious. She sniffed, watching the child compose herself once more. "You are without a doubt an insolent child, but you are needed here in this tribe. I expect you to not interfere in my decisions. Do not make the same mistake as Kaniehtí:io did. We shall see if we can make a warrior out of you, hm?"

"A warrior?" she raised a brow, "I can fight."

"Do not think I was not watching when you fell upon your father's neck as Washington nearly brought him down. You must learn our ways for you are ignorant of them. As your father is fighting, you must fight as well. As he heals, you will train with our warriors. I have a special feeling of you, Tsyoka'wehkowa."

And with that, Clan Mother gestured for the girl to follow her back into the cave to rest. No doubt, they needed it after what they went through this day. The injured groaned softly until they were completely asleep while the remaining children tried to close their eyes as troubled as they were. Not Blythe; she fell fast asleep in an empty corner, away from the others. Her small body curled up into the soft soil until her breathing was instantly steady. Every minute she was among the Mohawk, she would display such intriguing behavior. Aghanashimi brushed off the pain she felt in her legs as she came to the young girl's side, covering her with her own blanket that would keep her warm at night.

"_Good-night, little one_," she whispered, keeping to the girl's lonely side as she slept.

* * *

_Many days passed since the observers were admitted to staying in the 18__th__ century. Already they have made plans for the future that they were sure to have. It was as if a huge weight was lifted from their shoulders for they acted more carefree than they were in the previous years of their stay—acting more of the laid-back sort and expressing more of their mind. This pleased many of the allies they knew as well as their neighbors in Homestead. Connor would often watch from afar as his new fiancé honestly displayed her sense of freedom on this land than she did before. She was still rebellious, yet her smile was more radiant and grateful. Both the curse and her service as an observer ended here… maybe. One cannot be so sure of it. A majority of the Brotherhood knew there were still conflicts to be settled, but Connor knew there was some time of peace that should be made._

_One day at the manor, he caught her gawking at her engagement ring for the eleventh time that week. She didn't seemed mesmerized by the size of the gem that was carefully placed in—no—she looked more lost in thought for its meaning. The assassin leaned against the chair she sat on, nearly scaring the living daylights out of her. __**"Augh! Nononononononono…"**__ she frowned deeply as Connor stood over her, smirking. "Why do you do that? _Tree-hugger_… that was not funny. I almost died."_

_"I am sorry. I did not mean to startle you," he petted her unruly hair, "It's just that you seemed happier these past few weeks."_

_"But you don't," she sputtered, "You just keep working like hell. Ever heard of sleeping in? It'll do you good." She reached for his hand that kept motioning through her locks, clasping and entwining her fingers in them. "What did you really come up here for, Connor?" _

_"I was wondering…" he came around to look at her face, "Emily—"_

_"Good God, Connor. Call her 'Angie' once in a while." He thinned his eyes. "Continue. Sorry 'bout that."_

_"_Angie_ claims that before two people marry, they spend some time together."_

_"But we do spend time together," she replied, dead panned, "She's implying that we don't go on romantic dates, dude. The whole point of them is to get to know your significant other better. I think we got along nicely enough that we find each other intriguing enough to want to marry." Connor pinched the bridge of his nose. Clearly, Tsipporah has been new to this as he was, but held no interest as always. Now that Juno wasn't in the way of their bonding, he would know her even more. He had nothing to hide for her was always sincere and honest. He would often see no need in hiding any information from her. However, her society was quite different. She was not allowed to hold any relationship past a platonic affair. When they attempted, they were cursed and she became frustrated whereas Connor was not afraid. When he wanted her near, he would say so without hesitation. Unlike the novice, he was more direct. "So what are you saying, man? You wanna make time to do something personal like going on a date, have bachelor parties, a whole wedding ceremony, a wedding reception, and then go straight for the honeymoon?"_

_"Yes," he bluntly answered. The novice was taken aback by how he barely bats an eyelash or stammered through. He was serious._

_"Should I…" she cleared her throat, "Talk to Ellen about getting some things to make a dress? The guys at the inn to do something about dinner? We can take a walk if you want."_

_"You sound as if you are being pressured into marriage."_

_"That's because my parents are always asking that. They got so bored with me wondering if I'll ever get a boyfriend. Now that… never mind." She got up from her seat, but was abruptly pulled back. "Damn it, Connor! What?!"_

_"This is precisely why Emily suggests that we at least spend a day together before we decide our next move. You are free of your duties of observing me, yet a part of you clings to that role."_

_"Yeah, but you're still an assassin, bro. Whether you settle down to retire or not, you will always be an assassin like I will always be the one descended from Artemis—can't change it no matter what I do. Besides, there are things you still keep from me to this day, too—"_

_"Things that I wish to explain to you now that we can stay together." Tsipporah suddenly felt heat rise in her cheeks, narrowing her eyes and her heart skipped a beat. "Our time has been extended, yet the time we did spend together before would not let us come together the way we imagined."_

_"What's all this 'we' shit—"_

_"Because I am certain that this is what you wanted as well or did you not confess your affections to me first?" The novice made a small 'o' of her mouth as he touched on something more personal to her. True, she confessed her love first while he meant to keep such emotions to himself. He was better at containing them than her in all honesty. She stifled a scoff, shaking her head at the clever assassin. "It is your wish as it is mine. Sometime during these days, we shall have one of these 'dates'. Perhaps even marry properly as you claim before you bear my children."_

_"_Ahh_…you sassy motherfucker, you," she yelped more comically to herself than to her beloved, "He said I'll bear his children…" The assassin frowned at her expression, taking it as offensive. _

_"Do you not want children? After all that Emily claimed and you—yourself—said about becoming mothers and marriage?"_

_"Shut up. That's not what I meant. I'm not saying I don't want kids. I'm saying I having your kids. Our kids are gonna be the richest kids on this block is what I'm saying. What should we name them, though?" Connor backed away to stand straight wearing a puzzled look. This woman never ceased to concern him._

_"What do you mean? You are not with child yet… are you?"_

_"No! I mean, I want to at least pre-plan just in case. Shouldn't they have meaningful names like us? Our English names mean a lot and have an interesting background. I think if we have a girl, we should name her 'Blythe' and maybe the boy—"_

_"Shouldn't this decision fall to both of us?" he chuckled a little._

_"It will. I will give them English names and you will give them their native names. It works out. Besides, they have to know where both of us are coming from." Connor shook his head and came towards her once more, taking her in his arms to stand with him. He came closer to her, brushing a lock of hair from her face over her ear. She knew what he wanted to do as warm breath coaxed her lips to relax, but awkwardly tried to reach for his face—which was frustrating because he had gotten taller over the years. When did this happen?_

_"What is it?" he lowered himself to her until she successfully felt at his cheek._

_"Nothing. I think your bones just stretch overnight is all. But are you sure about having…children? You say that you'll always be busy."_

_"It is something I will make time for—make sure that I will be with them as much as I can from the day they are born until the day I die, but I will make the most of it. What of you?" _

_"Tear that ass up if they think I'll go soft on them. I am from the Caribbean, Connor; I will not be merciful for any minor. Other than that, I'll do my best…" she giggled, "What? It makes for an interesting childhood. And I know you'll be a good father. _Like a cool dad_!" Her words somewhat placed some fears to rest. He would not explain how he would not be such a decent candidate as a father as he would for a husband. Tsipporah may have speculated that as well when he looked at her innocently when she said that he would be a "good father". He gave an incredulous look, silently reminding her that he and his father were not much of a family sort. She opened her mouth to speak, but the words died; afraid she might offend him. "Maybe we should worry about the dating part before worrying about marriage, children—blah. Why would you bring that up anyway?"_

_"Emily claims that you have… 'child-bearing' hips. It makes for giving birth to many sons." He snatched her lips into his and felt her smile in the midst of it. Of course Angie would mention such things. She convinced her that Connor was fearless in more ways than one, too. The novice slowly got an idea when he said "many sons". The idea of it started to sink in… then she backed out of his arms._

_"Clearly, you have never been with a pregnant woman, dude."_

_"I have," he crossed his arms defensively._

_"If you mean Prudence, then no. You had to deal with her as a friendly neighbor. I mean dealing with one holding your child or someone in your family. I'll just say this: you don't know fear until you've roomed with a preggers." He gave a skeptical look as if she was speaking of something he's dealt with before. The novice knew better. As strong as he is… he overestimates himself, acting like he so sure that this was part of his repertoire. She raised her hands beside each side of her, meaning to leave that subject alone for now. "Pfft… we'll figure it out."_

_"We certainly will in time," he fixed his gloves, "Now will you come hunting with me?"_

_"Is that your idea of a first date?" she laughed, "Shooting and snaring, and animal blood on my hands, then pray for them after?" He nodded bluntly as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Fuck yeah! Let's hunt! That's why I love you."_

* * *

The next few days were quiet and solemn. As her father slept his pain off, Blythe would sharpen the blade that her grandmother gave her the day they met. Their meeting was brief, but she treasured it daily for she had never known this side of the family tree. Her father told her stories, showed her the village, but it was not enough. She wanted so badly to meet with those she shared her blood with. The children of homestead were kind to her for many reasons—she was the landlord's daughter, the daughter of an assassin, and that she was a good person at heart; and not the average spoiled child. Ever since birth, she would be told to follow her parents and think for her, so when she wanted to speak out her mind, then she would. Her brother was a different story, however. He was too independent, but didn't want his sister getting involved in too many dangerous sports. He was not at all a weakling nor timid; just more strategic and thinks about his next move than his younger sibling does. Thinking of her life back in homestead started to curl in her stomach; Aghanashimi came to Blythe wearing a sad smile.

"What is wrong, Tsyoka'wehkowa? The children here tell me that you refuse to play with them—let alone, speak to them. Ratonhnhaké ton is healing and resting. You would worry him if you continue like this."

"Papa thinks nothing of it. He says that I was like him when he was my age," she took a musing to her words, "Does that make me strange?" Her great-aunt laughed heartily, making her feel somewhat better of her grandchild.

"No, it does not make you strange. It makes you unique. Your father was always the rebellious sort—running with the wolves of the forest, climbing and walking parts of the Frontier no man had dared to venture… it is what makes him special. He is ambitious to a fault. Clan Mother did mention to me that you wanted to go hunting with our fellow brothers. Is this true?"

"Yes," she barely fluttered, "I want to hunt. To fight. To become stronger. King George has killed my grandmother and hurt my father. I want to see him bleed as I take his power from him. If my mother has told me anything of Washington is that he is insecure." The native woman sighed, taking the child into her arms as if she was her own, but the little kept talking. "My mother had powers of her own and I think they are sleeping in me right now. If I try to tap into them, maybe I can help stop the mad king. Then maybe papa won't have to drink the tea."

"Is that what this is about? You wish for him to not drink the tea?"

"Grandmother says it's dangerous. You said so, too. Your husband met a violent end because he drank it." Aghanashimi closed her eyes tightly, sinking into the terrible memory. It was a memory that was difficult to dispose of among others. The only thing she could look forward to is the future no matter how hopeless it looked. Her level of optimism was going into a down-spiral. "I'm going to see if I can do something about these powers of mine. I wonder what I did to trigger them."

"Tsyoka'wehkowa," her great-aunt enunciated her name, "Clan Mother would not you to go out hunting. It is risky for the blue coats may be in the area."

"I am not afraid of some white men on the prowl. They do not know the Frontier like we do."

"Child—"

"We shall take her hunting if that is what she desires," a fellow warrior answered. The native woman shook her head, knowing this to be folly. Her "brothers" would beg to differ. This child obviously was mature for her age. Though she maybe a bit abrasive in her words, she held an aura that most warriors had instead of a meek little girl. She was a curious sort. "Clan Mother agrees that this child is allowed to come with us if that is what she desires. However, we must also collect the boughs before day's end."

"This child will not go near that tree!" she suddenly screeched and the remainder of the tribe stared. The elder woman who led them came in between, hushing them both with her presence alone.

"Tsyoka'wehkowa may see what it is that gives us strength. This is the child of Ratonhnhaké ton—she has my permission," she turned to the girl, "But heed my words, child, you cannot drink it for you are not of age to. Be on your way and return once all is finished." She waved her hand as Aghanashimi scoffed. This was utter barbarism. Allowing a child to enter a territory that is now a danger to their people? Clan Mother is as foolish as her sister claimed, yet she was their mother, nonetheless. The tribe would always obey her first. She couldn't wait for the day for her proud sister to become Clan Mother, but all that was taken away once she had a child by a British man. It did not make her love her any less for the child was just as humble-hearted as she was. It was Clan Mother who stripped her of her enablement to be next in line, so now it falls to Aghanashimi—vowing to not fail her sister instead. She watched as her grandchild left with the brave warriors out of the cave and into the feral woods. A prayer would not settle for them. They must return unharmed or at least undetected.

The group made their way down the usual forest path with their hunting supplies in hand or on their backs. Astonishingly, all was quiet except for the predictable noises of the evergreen pathway. The hunters knew better, though, that the soldiers of Washington were to press on or die. They may not be in this part of the woods yet, but that does not mean that they should relax. The little one kept her pace with the others as they wondered of her. Her eyes did not seem curious and afraid; rather, they held a stern, predatorily heavy gaze in every direction they turned. One of the warriors slowed a bit for her to catch up.

"Ratonhnhaké ton has taught you our ways, little one?"

"Yes, he taught me everything I needed to know about hunting."

"Strange how he has never once mentioned you before."

"Ha…" she threw her head back sarcastically, "Either he did not mention me because he didn't want to jeopardize my safety or that no one even asked. He's like that sometimes. I mean, is he the type to settle in the quiet life and not get married eventually—papa doesn't have a wife here does he?" her face wrinkled and the warriors laughed heartily.

"No. His mother is very particular in who is worthy of marrying him. I do not believe he has any interests of the sort to begin with."

"Good," she sighed, "Because if he was married to someone here, mommy would have a heart attack… maybe even make other uses for her palette knives. Yeah, she'd probably smash the wife's head on her knee and use papa for target practice." She seemed to get along better with the other respectable hunters than she would with those her own age. When they came in contact with some animals, the men displayed their heightened skills as they shot arrows through the air and pounce on deer for their hides. Blythe took up Ziio's blade in her hands as she spotted a wandering moose at the corner of her eye. It frolicked deeper into the woods without catching the eyes of the other hunters. The girl grew curious of the creature that went away, seeing that it was more built than the ones she has ever seen on the Frontier so far when she hunted with her father. Quietly, she slipped away from the others who were occupied with undoing snares with hares caught in them. Her small feet made its way around the rubbish and leaves that lay on the forest floor to not alert the others. A smile stretched from ear to ear on her plump lips as she managed her way up into the trees. Once she had a fair footing, she held her blade in her teeth for a free hand use.

Venturing carefully from branch to branch, she allowed her body to gracefully float in the air until she came in contact with the strong moose from before. A giggle escaped her throat as she leapt to the next set of branches that led to the overhead view of her target. Her feet silently took her there, eventually hovering over the beast with ease. Dropping the knife from her jaws' clutches, she twirled it in her hand expertly and allowed herself to jump off. On the moose's back, it immediately ran off, startled to be assaulted by any aerial attempts. Excitement and worry churned in the girl's chest as she knew that the beast was running madly and deeper into the forest. She had to think fast.

Boldly, the knife was gripped and yearned to tear flesh; and Blythe gave the blade such a favor while the moose ran, burying it into its shoulder. The wild kicking and yelping soon ended with the creature slowing down until it reached another opening of the forest. Blythe leapt off of its back to land right in front, readying herself to collect what's hers.

"You have given me a good hunt. You must sleep now and the pain will pass." The beast fell on its side, exhausted from the run and more exhausted due to the serious wound it received. As the knife was turned downwards in her hand, she walked towards it, crouching to its level. "The pain will pass," then she slit its throat, instantly killing it. She bowed her head afterwards before taking its contents. "_Niá:wen_."

"Now that was badass, lil' girl."

Blythe jumped to her feet as she was still in the process of skinning her prize. Her bloodied knife sharpened in her hand, searching for the source of the voice. After some minutes, she felt a figure come behind her. Instinctively, she swung her knife in that particular direction until she heard a surprised yelp. The mysterious figure then came in her line of sight. Blythe remained ready to swipe her knife again, but something in her relaxed as soon as she saw who it was. It was a woman. She was much taller than the girl, having voluptuous curves of the body and defined cheekbones in the face. Traditional, colonial attire covered her body as well as an array of weapons packed along her waist. The woman shook her unruly, bushy curls of hair to get a better look at the hunter that came upon her campsite. The little one resisted smiling like a fool.

"So…" the stranger started, "Are there more of you here? I could've sworn that Washington attacked some settlement down this path." The girl pursed her lips before answering. Something of this woman both set an ease in her as well as frustrate her. "So it's safe to assume that there are survivors?"

"Uh… yeah," Blythe shrugged her shoulders, "I was out hunting with the warriors and got a little carried away." She giggled shyly at her catch, knowing that she'll have to go back. The stranger only smiled with her.

"You have to go all the way back with all of that?" she gestured to all the moose's contents and the girl plainly nodded. "You look like a strong girl to carry this all by yourself, but it also looks like your place is a bit far, so I will gladly help you." She went to the deceased creature helping to collect the rest of it with the girl, brandishing a polished hunting knife to retrieve the meat. "Does anyone in your tribe know that you're hunting in these parts? Your parents? Siblings?"

"My papa's not too well to be hunting. He was hurt badly trying to stop Washington."

"Oh, I'm sorry…" the woman thought for a moment, "Is he resting from the wounds? What is he suffering from?"

"Three musket balls to the chest." The woman raised a brow, thinning her lips before truly offending the girl.

"Yeah, girl, I know a man who got shot nine times and he's still walking around. Your father's gonna be fine, but that depends if they passed into his lungs because that would be messy. It would be a real handicap if such a thing happened like that."

"Will you…take a look at him when we go back?" she squeaked with big eyes that begged for a special request. The older woman cooed in awe at the girl's expression. "I just want to know if he will live or not. You sound like you know a lot about human anatomy."

"I do, actually. I'll do you the favor of checking him. Maybe if your clan's leader allows me to stay, I might have some food to eat, too." She gave a weak chuckle. "Yeah, Washington had my house burned down some days ago in Concord. Not my house, though. The people there were so nice to me when I popped up out of nowhere. Now everyone's dead…" Blythe looked upon the woman whose eyes were filled with wounding memories. She knew for she wore the same expression as she passed through the ruinous town.

"I'll see what Clan Mother says, but I can't promise anything."

"Oh… you don't—"

"No, I insist," Blythe smiled brightly as she took the rest of the scraps up the forest path.

* * *

As soon as they returned that late afternoon, Clan Mother was furious. A hunting party was to stay together no matter what and the child disregarded that. The little one saw no harm in breaking some rules, but the other warriors were somewhat disappointed in her as well. Although she brought back some plentiful meat and fur for the tribe, she still brought back a stranger from the woods. It offended her to no end. Who was this woman? Surely, she could be a spy of the mad king. Blythe assured that she was nothing of the sort for she was kind to her. The stranger looked around in amazement; overwhelmed that this many natives survived the attack of the mad king. It wouldn't be too much of surprise since these are skilled people of the forest. They knew the Frontier better than any settler, soldier, or king. She was rather intrigued by them.

"Explain yourself, Tsyoka'wehkowa," Clan Mother hissed, "Why have you brought this woman here."

"Because she's my mother, Clan Mother." She made sure that she maintained eye-contact and did not flutter in her sentence otherwise many would see right through her. "We were reunited in the woods and asked to see her beloved because she was terribly worried about him. When I told her that papa was shot by the mad king, she nearly lost her mind and followed me back here." The majority of the tribe gazed back at the stranger for validation and the woman flinched at the feral eyes that were staring her down. The elder woman approached her to take a good look at her face.

"It is true. They share the same face," she nodded, "What is her English name then?" The stranger wanted to curse herself for not even asking the girl her name while they walked up the forest path. She had to retain the gaze, knowing that escaping to her thoughts would see her thrown out or killed. She quickly receded to her musings before answering.

"Er…Blythe…" she said aloud.

"So you really are her mother." She let out a sigh of relief. "If that is the case, then tend to your husband there. He is resting and I am unsure when he is going to wake, but I feel that it is going to be some time before he does."

"I will check him to see." She immediately went to Blythe's father who lay on his back, asleep. His chest was bare, which made inspecting him much easier. She carefully sat down, hovering over his body. The sunlight peaking through made for good lighting so she could look over his wounds. Looking closely, she saw that only the left side of his chest suffered from injuries while the rest of him had some serious bruising. She shrugged her shoulders as the warriors curiously looked at the woman. "Who patched up his wounds?"

"I did," Aghanashimi stepped forward to the woman's side.

"Not bad… did you get all the musket balls out?"

"No, unfortunately. I only managed to remove two. The last one was… in a risky place. Should I remove it, he would surely die."

"I'll be the judge of that," she took out a much smaller knife that was yet to be used and some potion, "Where?"

"Below the chest."

"Ooh…" she puckered her lips at the mention as she lifted his upper body with a strange drink in hand, "That is a risky place. One bad move and he could suffocate—instant death. Pretty wise of you not to do that, but the musket ball can't stay there. If it does, he'll have trouble breathing—"she felt at his chest, putting her ear to his mouth, "Like he does right now. No wonder he hasn't woken up yet. He's in limbo, guys. Gotta get that thing out there… or I'll be widow." She had to add sentimentally, but remain calm nonetheless.

"What is that?" Blythe pointed to the potion the woman held to her father's lips.

"Little something I made from herbs and a little alcohol. It makes for a good pain-suppression. Good tranquilizer, too. It only lasts for half a day, so I'll have to work fast."

"But you'll be here for part of the night working…"

"Shh…" she had the native man laid back on the ground after administering the potion into his system, "Wait ten minutes for the potion to settle in and then I'm going in. Not the first difficult surgery I'll ever give, but musket balls are pretty loaded. It's likely to leave a dirty trail leading to some infection. If he stayed like this for a week more, he'd get some poisoning…"

"He'll be alright?" Blythe sat close to her wearing childish eyes.

"Yeah, he'll be alright," she assured, "Now, do you want to be my assistant and pass some of my tools from my satchel?"

"Yeah!" the girl beamed, scrambling over to the woman's supplies for any of them to be called on.

The tribe continued their ways that afternoon until late evening, keeping watch for any blue coats or Washington himself while the rest remained inside for safety. Those who remained inside either kept to themselves about their own business and occasionally look to the stranger who claimed to be Ratonhnhaké ton's woman and this girl's mother. Perhaps she was. Both Tsyoka'wehkowa and this woman shared some facial features. She focused so steadfastly on her patient, trying to retrieve the bullet from a difficult place. Tricky part was that she had to make sure that the native man was still breathing with a steady heartbeat. Even more challenging was that this was all done a bit blindly without the proper equipment she'd usually have to search for stray objects. In her inspection, his diaphragm wasn't completely damaged, it didn't put much fears to rest, though. She would have to find the bullet before the sunlight gives out on her, saving the evening to clean him up. Both the woman and Blythe held their breaths as she went in further, dodging major blood vessels and following a scarred trail. Finally, after an agonizing couple of hours, she found the musket ball.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I have found the perpetrator," she murmured with a wide grin on her face, careful not to breathe over the man's reopened wounds. Her 'daughter' bounced in her seat, but it was too early to celebrate. "Hey, don't pop bottles yet. Here comes the hardest part—pulling it out."

The native woman that spoke to her earlier wasn't lying about it being in a difficult place. The woman shrugged at the view and looked to her assistant.

"You see those weird looking pliers-tweezers thing in there?"

"Um…these?" Blythe gave a questioning look at the item she picked out of the satchel. They had a very peculiar shape, which one would have to place two fingers through the handles and open-close in using it. "What are these?"

"Something to get the musket ball out," she held her hand out to get her special instrument. Another hour or so, she got the musket ball out and held it out for the girl to see. Once the little one took it into her hands, the stranger had to clean her hands again. "Okay, pass my 'special' sewing kit; I gotta close him up before the natural lighting fails me."

Ever piece of instrument this girl passed over to this guest…would seem stranger and stranger. It amused her little heart, however, for her mother was always such a radical person as her father would put it, yet she would call him insane for his own ideas. According to her mother, he had a crazy cousin, a dragon-lady aunt, and a hardcore childhood companion. The stories would never bore her. As the woman sewed his surgical opening, she commented to herself on how sturdy his body was. His muscles were very firm, nearly making the way past them a bit challenging, but it was something that mesmerized her. Due to her work in trying to get past that layer, he might suffer from some chronic pain for a while. It was worth it. At least the bullet was completely removed. Occasionally, she would peek at his face before looking away with an unsteady grin.

"Are you okay, _ista_?" Blythe peered over her face. The woman sighed, wiping her hands of the man's blood. "You look tired. Maybe you should eat something."

"Yeah, maybe," she stretched her arms over her head until she heard a soft pop of her joints, but she did not stop there. Her shoulders and back, perhaps her legs, too, were aching from sitting still for the majority of the day. She stood a fair distance from her patient to stand upright. Slowly, she bends herself backwards until her palms reached the soft ground under her. Once she was in the perfect shape of an arch, she rolled backwards until she lay on her stomach. Yeah, this woman was definitely her mother. "Does the…Clan Mother think it alright for me to stay?"

"Well, she wants to speak to you, that's for sure," Blythe yawned.

"Okay," her eyes wandered back to the native man she worked on, replying in whispers, "You know I would actually see myself marrying someone like that—he's hot. How long do I keep up this charade?"

"Uh…" she frowned, "Until he wakes up?" She didn't want to alarm the woman with anything her father might say when he wakes to see her. She could already see how he'll react. "Just stay a bit longer, okay? I don't care what Clan Mother says. Please stay."

"Someone has some parental issues…" she sighed heavily, "Fine. I'll stay. I am your mother after all, so I can't really leave. Plus it's dangerous in the woods. I think I'll just stay here." The little girl leapt into the woman's arms happily, overwhelming her with such surprising strength. They both shared a short-lived laugh and the woman quieted herself again. Blythe relaxed her arms from around her neck and followed her eyes. She smiled as she found the source of her 'mother's' interest.

"His name is Ratonhnhaké ton," she whispered, "Best hunter in his village. I was once told that women used to throw themselves at him when he was an adolescent."

"Oh…" she wrinkled her face, "So I married an asshole…"

"No! He's nothing like that—"

"I'll see for myself when he wakes up. I'm gonna drown in moose meat for a while. Bye," she spoke quickly before walking off. Blythe rolled her eyes. This is exactly how she was with her own mother. It was rare for them to have a heart to heart, but knew that her mother meant well. She inwardly sighed with relief that her father was safe now. Had she not lose herself to the forest, this would not come to be. All she had to do now was to wait for him to wake. She watched as his chest rise and fall in rhythm. His heartbeat was steady, which was good because Clan Mother claimed that he would wake soon, but what of the consequences. Thinking back on what Ziio warned her of, she feared for what was in store for her father once he woke. She would make him drink the tea and she would be powerless to stop it. The little one curled into her knees, thinking hard on how she was going to prevent this from coming to be. Then she had an idea…

"Ista!" she turned to the woman as she came back with slabs of cooked meat. She handed one to Blythe.

"What's up, young buck?"

"There's something we have to do—something we have to plan before my father is forced to do something… bad."

"What is it?" she grew worried for the child looked as stern as the other warriors here. She leaned in close, knowing to lower her voice.

_"We must destroy the Great Red Willow tree."_

* * *

**Rebellious indeed. So vaguely, I think some of you already figured who the "stranger" is. More in the next chapter! :D**

**But aside from that, fanart for the fanfiction are on my site: .com in the gallery section. Will be posted soon, so stay tuned. I'll have to post new chapters every Sunday, so I can run into new chapters of the DLC as resource so you guys don't get a barrel of chapters one or two weeks, then they just... stop. Not gonna do that to you guys. Only fair that I do this once a week so when new chapters come out, you don't have the weird gap of waiting painfully.**

**So, see you in the next chapter! ;D**


	3. Sequence 03: Drink Me

_"It was all very well to say `Drink me,' but the wise little Alice was not going to do _that_ in a hurry. `No, I'll look first,' she said, `and see whether it's marked "poison" or not'; for she had read several nice little histories about children who had got burnt, and eaten up by wild beasts and other unpleasant things, all because they _would_ not remember the simple rules their friends had taught them…"_

__**Alice in Wonderland, Chapter 01**

* * *

Months have passed that the Mohawks in hiding remained undetected by the King's men. The Clan Mother had requested for the warriors of their clan to retrieve the virgin boughs of the Great Red Willow tree during that time in order to stop any of the blue coats that might pass by for anyone of the to be spared would leave a great consequence. Ratonhnhaké ton's daughter waited for the opportune moment to dispatch of the tree—a blight of the forest whose diet was man's sanity. She cannot allow her father to drink in any of its contents if what Ziio explained was true. And how! When the warriors returned after salvaging the boughs, they were faster, stronger, and would be out of a human's naked sight only to pop up out of nowhere. This wasn't good. This was not good at all. Perhaps it was folly to wait to see how it would affect other warriors. The powers they were granted were quite overwhelming as the strengths of a feral beast.

"_Beast_…" Tsyoka'wehkowa whispered to herself one day as she wiped her father's face. How did she not see it before? The boons that the tea grants are that of forest animals—ones that can overcome any average human. The revelation slightly frightened her of what might become of those who held such power. Would they become less than human? Would they become nothing but mindless beasts?

"What's good, lil' mama?" her 'mother' knelt down beside her. The young one gave her a skeptical face, wondering how this woman can relax so much even with violence surrounding her. Of course, she—herself—had to be strong for anything she sees, but the stranger was pretty laid back. The girl's gaze grew agonizingly stern, causing the woman to jerk back. "What? I can't say 'hello'?"

"Good morning to you as well," she sighed, lowering her gaze, "I believe I know just what kind of power the tea gives. The men of this tribe become bestial."

"So you're worried that the tea might just turn them into wild animals? Is that it?" Tsyoka'wehkowa looked up to the woman with pleading eyes. "Well, first things first—don't destroy the tree." The young one slowly grew furious from those words. The woman still continued to speak as if the child was still poker-faced. "Think about it: we don't know what exactly this tree does or why it's even grown here. The only thing that's certain is that this tree grants powers—highly lethal powers. If you burn it, all of those natural aromas the tree carries might just go airborne and everyone inhales it. You can't just go about thinking that such a tree will be easily disposed."

The girl relaxed her face, crestfallen at the woman's reasonable argument. True, she knew nothing much of the tree and vaguely of the dangers rising from it. Even so, how does one destroy such a monstrosity? She sighed, bringing her knees up to lean into them in frustration. The only thing certain for now is that her father was going to be alright—that he was going to wake any moment now. Her eyes wandered back to his peacefully laid body. He breathed steadily with calmness in his face. The woman couldn't help but watch him as well. It was fortunate that he remained healthy through the whole surgery and his body was healing nicely. Such recovery was simple due to his exceptionally fit physique. Her eyes contoured every part of him as his breath made him rise and sink in. His broad shoulders…his wide chest… his muscular arms… his well-defined abs as well as his long legs…

"Um… are you alright, ista?" the young girl tried to keep herself from giggling as she saw her 'mother' softly breathe to herself with glazed eyes as she intensely gazed at the native man's figure. She sat in slight worry over everything's that's happened until her thoughts were maimed suddenly by the crisp noise of another's nervous breathing. When she turned her head, she found the woman holding her chest and furrowing her brows with her mouth slightly opened. She snapped from the trance as soon as the child spoke. "You look as if you are suffocating."

"I'm fine," she quickly responded, "I just need some fresh air…"

"It's not that much of a mystery to figure that you are attracted to papa."

"What? No!" the young girl raised her brows, bobbing her head like it was very conspicuous. The woman shrugged her shoulders. "What? _What_? It's not I was thinking what I was thinking on purpose. Can you deny that your papa is a—"

"_DILF_?" she said, deadpanned.

"…_'a very handsome man'_ is what I was going to say—"

"Let us be honest with ourselves here. I am aware that my papa is exceptionally attractive according to my mother, my aunt, my neighbors…Hell, I even know what innuendos are thanks to you coquettish types." The woman was taken aback by this girl's language, but also found it amusing in her stead.

"Aren't you a mature little—"

_"…Nngh…" _

Both of them froze as they heard a soft groan escape the native man's lips. They looked at each other before thinking to act. The little one scrambled to her feet to wake the Clan Mother from her nap. Despite not taking much liking into her, she was still the tribe's leader and had to know of every warrior's well-being. The elder woke with a start and turned to her grandson's direction. Promptly, the other warriors came back in time to see their 'brother' finally open his eyes. The Clan Mother smiled as she clasped her staff upward.

"He is awake," she announced, nodding to the strange woman who had offered her hand to his aide.

His eyes fluttered open and his breath softened as he slowly took in his surroundings. The room felt shrouded in darkness save for the small fire that was made. He searched to find if he was not alone for he felt that more than one person was there. His upper half immediately came up as he found himself locking eyes with a familiar face—a face he would never think to see in such a place and time as this. The name came unconsciously on his lips.

"Tsipporah…?" he knew those dark brown eyes, that mocha skin, and her flamboyant hair with messy curls whatever color they may be. She flinched at the mention of that name as if she believed him to be delusion. Instinctively, she looked back at the young girl and back to the native man in question. He tried to sit up more properly, but as he did, a searing pain channeled through his whole abdomen. It felt like fire spreading to his entire body.

"**Oh no, no, no, no!"** she raised her voice as she offered herself as support, "Don't move too fast, boss. Just because it's been five months doesn't mean it's alright to move." He turned his head in her direction, a little surprised to hear how long he was out. It was a miracle that he was alive after being shot point-blank in the chest three times. The young girl came to his side smiling that he was finally up.

"Papa—"

**"Whoa, lil' mama!" **the woman held her hand out to Tsyoka'wehkowa to halt her and she obliged, "He's still recovering. Just give him another week to get mobile and he'll be jumping, swinging, hunting—all that bullshit. You calm down." She turned her attention to her patient once more. For a moment, she had to catch her breath seeing his eyes spark by the fire's light—tracing every live muscle and tone of his face. "Yo' daughter's been worried sick about you. The pain will pass, though. You'll have to get used to moving around again, so give yourself another week before doing something crazy." Ratonhnhaké ton watched this woman smile as she spoke. The way she speaks… the way she looks…it was none other than his own wife, so why did something seem different about her?

"Your woman helped clean your wounds and removed one of the musket balls that were buried deep within you. Skilled as she is, I see why you have chosen her." So it really was her. He inwardly sighed in relief despite the stinging pain that came after. The woman explained that since the musket ball was near his diaphragm, he might have some trouble breathing for a while; but it would fade away soon enough with time. Even as he held his side, he wished to hold her close. He would save for that. She was just the face he wanted to see. For now, he wished to know what happened after he was 'killed'. His eyes wandered around the room they were in, asking of where they were.

"A safe place," Clan Mother explained, "By the grace of your brothers."

"The village…" he blurted as he soon remembered of what occurred before he blacked out. The elderly woman softly grunted, recalling the events of that blood-ridden day.

"King George burned it. He was after your mother—your stubborn mother." The mention of his mother also brought back what had happened to her. Blythe's body shuddered as she still hasn't eliminated the trauma it caused her.

"Where is she?" he asked.

"She did not listen and now she is dead." Blythe and the stranger felt their jaws drop only to close them up quickly, grinding their teeth behind their lips. The young one could not believe her ears as if the elderly woman cared not for her own daughter, but her father looked away, closing his eyes. When she let her own feelings pass, she saw her father looking not exactly as crestfallen as he should be hearing this news. Even Clan Mother was a little surprised of his reaction.

"You take the news well."

"It is something that I knew—that I know," he sighed, "But Commander Washington, the Revolution… how did this come to be?"

"No one knows how King Washington came to possess the scepter; but now that he has it, no one can stop him. We were surviving, staying out of his way. But your mother tried to steal it from him. And that only angered him more. Now our kin are dead and the people of the Frontier are murdered and imprisoned." The entirety of the current events were starting to sink into the stranger that sat there posing as the girl's mother, realizing just what she got caught up in.

"How did we survive?" he wanted to know in case this world had more surprises in store.

"By the strength granted to us by the Great Willow," she said, "A strength you now must find." Blythe thinned her lips, wanting to lash out, but her father answered quickly.

"But my mother. She said—"

"Your mother was a fool. Full of ideals and bullheaded!" she raised her voice, "Now that King George's power has been threatened, he is making slaves of everyone!" The stranger curled up to the young girl and she did the same, underestimating the old woman's level of anger. The woman mumbled of how the elder woman appeared more threatening now with a vein throbbing conspicuously in her neck. Clan Mother calmed herself enough to reason better.

"Ratonhnhaké ton, it falls to you to make good on your mother's mistake. Journey to the Great Willow, climb her, and retrieve the virgin boughs in her canopy. Drink their essence and gain the power to fight, to bring down this mad King George." She didn't want to interfere on something so dire—so serious, but she couldn't help but ask…

"Is this a sacred tree or a village bike?" she asked flatly raising a brow and her 'daughter' proceeded to knock her ribs in with her elbow, knocking the wind out of her lungs as well. It, at least, kept her from laughing at her own joke. Did she know better than to laugh on the natives' traditions? Then again, who was she kidding, right? The natives that sat there gave a quick glare at the stranger who was now holding her side, silently cursing at the young girl. Her father paid them neither mind nor their shenanigans; there were more important things to hear now.

"What power?" he asked, still struggling with his own body. All Clan Mother replied was that he will soon find out once he gathers his strength. If what his wife claimed to be true—and it was visibly so—then he must wait a while longer before his wounds completely heal. Blythe did not accept it to be so. She didn't want him to endanger himself as the other warriors have by drinking that vile drink. It made her blood boil fearing of the unknown. Clan Mother continued to stoke the fire with more firewood and eventually asked for the others to go find some more wood. Despite the winter cold coming down hard, they knew where to find suitable wood. The strange woman stood from her spot, walking over to Clan Mother's side.

"If I may, Clan Mother," she implored, "My… husband would need the fresh air. I know it is quite cold, but he can't stay inside too long. At least some minutes out—"

"He may," she chuckled, "He is stronger than he looks or has he not shown you his strengths? Do not stay out for long. We cannot risk Washington's men finding this place."

"Don't worry, ma'am," she smiled tightly, "I'll make sure we'll come back safely and swiftly."

…

**"You have some fucking explaining to do—****_the both of you_****!"**

Ratonhnhaké ton and Tsyoka'wehkowa looked at each other and then back at the woman riddled with light snow. The native man continued to hold his side, but walked up to her as much as he could. She raised her hands either side, backing away from him. It was good that they were some ways up a hill in the open air; otherwise some of the warriors would hear them. And Blythe knows just how good their hearing has gotten. The young one frowned at the woman's reaction to all of this. The native man turned to his daughter, wondering what all this was.

"I thought it was her, papa. She looks, walks, and talks like her, but she doesn't know who I am or who you are. And she's telling the truth, too." He looked back at the woman's face and she sputtered.

"Look, I seriously don't know you two. She found me in the woods twiddling my thumbs and invited me to stay in with you guys, so I took the offer, okay? Next thing I know, she asks me to 'pretend' to be her mother to stay with her and I thought—_why not? At least I could stay in the cozy cave longer?_ That's it! That's all I pretty much agreed on. Plus, I couldn't let you go on with a musket buried in your breathing space. You could have died from suffocation if not from a dire coma! Now I have to be the wife, the mom—"

"Tsipporah!" he snapped, but she only grew more furious.

"And how the fuck do you know my name? I've never met you in my life!" the fog from her breath violently whipped in the air as she spoke. It took more than a mere moment to calm down if not for the chilling snow around her feet. She dropped her head in her hands.

"You do not know who I am? The places we went? The training we bled through together? When you protected me when I was nearly killed at the Incident on King's Street?" something else came to mind in an uneasy breath, "The time we spent in Homestead?" It was almost a nightmare even more that the person close to his heart—his best friend, his own love—knew nothing of him or even the children they had. _The children they had_. If his daughter was here, then—

"Look," she brushed the locks that fell at her face, "You seem like a nice guy and your daughter's charming and all, but I'm not about to go on with all of this until I know just what I got myself into." Blythe and her father had many things to worry about, but what she has said here was questionable. Did she not know what this place was, too? In her eyes, there was much confusion as a lost little child.

"Where are you from then?" he thought to ask.

"Why?" she spat.

"You are from the 21st century, are you not?" her face blanked out at his question and her eyes glazed. After a moment of the cold sinking in, she slowly nodded. Blythe gasped in disbelief, never knowing this at all—it could not be real. That would be impossible. "You were brought to the 18th century by a woman in white—a spirit—to aid me in battle and lead me to my enemies to destroy their order. You were the Eyes of the First Civilization. _You are Artemis_." Though her skin was mocha, it seemed that she was growing paler and paler. She wanted to shrink; to disappear. Of course she didn't know what was going on until she stayed with the natives. Problem was that she didn't know anything of this world—which even she thought was a strange phenomenon.

Ratonhnhaké ton finally released his hand from his side to reach out to her despite her resisting, yet her face twisted in distress as if he touched on old wounds. He then gripped her hand before she decided to claw him out of anger. Blythe stood back; not wanting to get in between the two for her mother seemed to be getting hostile. The woman eventually stopped upon realizing that despite his injuries still healing, it did not hinder his overwhelming strength. Once she came to, she found herself held tightly in a headlock with her arms tied behind her.

"Have you calmed yourself?" he asked as if he was bored, "You—yourself—seem confused as to how this came to be, yet you have no knowledge of me or anything linking to Homestead, the Brotherhood, or our family. Nevertheless, it would be unwise for you to be alone during these troubled times." He then released her from his hold and she rubbed her aching joints. "I am grateful for you tending to my grave injuries and for that I am in your debt." A part of him ached for she has saved him some times before in fearing he would die. Even in early training as he somewhat disliked her very presence, she would try to protect him. Such an act of benevolence concocted a change in his thoughts of her. It was a shame now that she was a stranger all over again—it was starting to tear a gaping abyss in his heart.

"So whaddaya want… _Ratonhnhaké ton_?" she sassed; nearly as much as she always would saying his native name back then, "Keep up this paternal figure front and for what? You look more confused as to why you're here, too." Much of that were true as well as his daughter. The sting of his injuries crept up on him again and Blythe quickly rushed to his side while Tsipporah thinned her eyes at them. She eventually shook her head with a sly smile on her face and approached them. "Fine then. Some Mohawk woman with braids came to me a several months ago telling me to aid her tribe anyway."

"_Mohawk woman with braids_?" he breathed, "Was her name—"

"Kaniehtí:io?" she grinned rather too widely, "Yeah. She told me to keep her son from drinking some wily jesus-juice or something…but your daughter also agrees. As for me, honestly, it is the only rational route to matching Washington. _One_ of them, actually."

"What do you mean?" he gripped her shoulder, "She said that the tea was dangerous and… and now Clan Mother wants me to seek it out—to collect the boughs. I cannot." He closed his eyes, bowing his head. He did not know of the dangers of the tea and as it seems, neither did the other young warriors. They willingly drank in such a lethal substance without questioning its contents. This was something he was conflicted with greatly among other things. The woman slapped his hand off her shoulder in annoyance, grabbing his to straighten him up.

"Listen, I'm not sure what kind of relationship we had in your little world, but I'm no one's wife and I'm no one's mother—safe to say that I'm highly unsuitable to be either. But since little Blythe here took me in and put her neck on the line for me, I owe her," she came in closer to the native man, "However, since I took some hours out of my livin' life to patch you up, you have to do something for me—which aligns our interests." He barely flinched or moved away.

"What would you have me do?"

"All in good time," she backed away with a cocky smirk, "Besides you still have to heal up and do as the Clan Mother says: drink the tea. There's no way you're gonna survive this world without taking in the fruits of nature here. Your little girl there is what you'll need in good time, too."

"What do you mean by that?" he raised his voice more out of the very thought of his daughter getting tangled in the midst of bloody combat. His 'wife' softly cackled to herself, spiking the air.

"Hey, you'll see soon, boss," she picked at her nails, "Now come on! I'm freezing my ass off out here. I think you got enough fresh air."

* * *

Blythe was never comfortable about this final decision to drink from the Great Willow. She has yet to gaze upon it, but still feared it nonetheless. She wanted to keep to herself rather than speak about anything to her father. If he was going to drink something that is said to be so vile, then she had nothing else to say to him. For three days into the week, she said not a word to him and Aghanashimi tried to coax her into speaking at least something. All she spewed before silencing herself was that the woman she has brought here is not her mother but an evil spirit here to smother her father into madness. The warriors did not take to such words for she seemed to blurt them out of anger. One evening, she curled into an isolated corner in the far reaches of the cave they stayed in to avoid everyone's eyes. Quietly, she sang to herself a melody her mother always sung to her before sleep overwhelmed her.

_Someone's Waiting For You by  
Be brave little one.  
Make a wish for each sad little tear.  
Hold your head up though no one is near  
Someone's waiting for you.  
Don't cry little one.  
There'll be a smile where a frown use to be  
You'll be part of the love that you see.  
Someone's waiting for you.  
Always keep a little prayer in your pocket  
and you're sure to see the light.  
Soon there'll be joy and happiness  
and your little world will be bright  
Have faith little one  
'Til your hopes and your wishes come true.  
You must try to be brave little one.  
Someone's waiting to love you_

"_Tsyoka'wehkowa_."

A low voice cut the young one from her thoughts and she spun away from empty air to find that it was her father. She made a pestered fish face before turning her back to him; the ploys of the days prior to this night churning her stomach.

"(Do you not wish to speak to me, Tsyoka'wehkowa)?" he shook her leg, but she curled up in response. She obviously didn't want to speak with him. The others were around the fire telling stories and speaking of the victories to come. It was something she was starting to get tired of. She wanted to go home—to Homestead, to her old life. What is this place?

"Papa… I want to go home. And I was wrong after all—that woman is not my mother and she is not your wife. She's just crazy."

"It may be so, but the likeness is uncanny. There is a strong possibility that she is indeed the woman I married and the mother that cared for you."

"Pfft!" she finally looked at him, "Are you touched in the head, papa? She didn't even know either of our names. She is strange and confused. So confused that she would have you drink that vile drink from the boughs. I've seen the strengths, but I have yet to see the worst—"

"It is to protect the others; even you, Tsyoka'wehkowa. I do not want another innocent to be murdered or imprisoned. Your mother and I, and the people we fought alongside have worked hard to see this country be free. If what she says is true, then I will have no other choice but to drink the tea. That is all."

"But papa…I have powers now like _ista_ did. She said that with your blood, she could sink ships, raze lands—"

"A power she did not want, Tsyoka'wehkowa, and I will not let you carry the burden of that power—it will destroy you."

"But the tea will destroy you!" He sat up a little with a stern look on his face. Funny, how his own daughter argued just as his beloved would; making sure that she was a tad bit louder than he.

"I have made my decision. And I trust that you will respect it."

"…"

Tsipporah gritted her teeth as she ate her share of meat indifferently; seems as though she always have a way of ruining a gathering. Not her fault. The girl assumed that she was her mother and wanted to believe that she was. It was flattering that such a beautiful little girl with such a hard streak of a huntress thought her a mother of her own. And the girl's father…the very thought of him made her heart flutter uncontrollably, but she had to keep her tricky façade up. Sure, it was nice to help him and doing his mother a favor, but there was no way in hell that she was going to go soft on him because she found him attractive. She had somewhere she had to go. She, too, wanted to bring down Washington and collect the power he held for it was not his to have. Any mortal holding it would fall victim to its control and the path to stealing it was no different. None of the natives approached her at some point of the night as she sat against the walls. Every night she stayed, something about her more and more off, but what can they say against it? She saved some injured and unhealthy. Yet, there was something more…

…

Days past in quiet. There was not much activity in the woods for the animals have rested for the next season, but did not stop the hunting sport. By this time, Ratonhnhaké ton was able to roam freely without having to stop for a breath. Clan Mother decided that now would be the best time to send him to the Great Willow. His daughter said nothing to him as he prepared himself that morning, but he promised to bring back some food when he can. Just as he was leaving the cave, the devious character jumped onto his back. It did not startle him for it was something he was used to from his beloved, but it was just too early.

"Onward, my noble steed! To the boughs!" her legs gripped around his waist tightly and he groaned in annoyance. "What? You're healthy enough to take some weight. Now get a move on before we get frostbite out this motherfucker."

He rolled his eyes, seeing that nothing was going to get her off of his back… literally. Several times, he would dash through the snow and vault over some forest rubbish only to have her yawn and keep her stubborn grip. He would not let her notice, but he smirked a little at this. It sort of reminded him of how she would bother him while he trained just to amuse herself. They were to meet one of the other warriors by the tree. The subject of the tree somewhat made him question it even more, so he stopped for a moment as he ducked in a bush.

"Tsipporah," he called.

"What? Do you something? If it's a bathroom break, then tough luck. I'm not getting down from here."

"No, it's not that. Would the tree still be alive during these harsh conditions?"

"Actually, the Great Red Willow tree thrives through many harsh conditions—especially this one. During the coldest of winters, the tea's special abilities become robust. Some people of the Frontier call it the Devil's Tree because of its red leaves close to the color of blood and those who drink it become mad, but not that many live to dig deeper into the madness."

"So it is dangerous…" he whispered to himself.

"Don't tell me you're chickening out because of some rumor. I don't care what Ziio had to say; that tea was delicious…" she purred, adjusting herself on his sturdy back. It made him a bit uncomfortable.

"You drank the tea?!"

"Hey, if you keep asking all of these questions, then I'm gonna start charging you. Now come on! You gotta have your fill, too." The native man curled up his lip every minute this woman thought it to be appropriate to give him orders. Her persona was still unbearable as ever as he continued down the path until he saw a steep hill with a tree that leaned to the side. Its leaves—even from afar—gleam an ominous red that cut through the fog that tried to engulf it. He softly gasped as they came closer to the top to meet with it. Alas, the warrior they were to meet with as well was there with a well lit fire and tools to prepare a drink. The woman jumped off Ratonhnhaké ton's back as he stood before his 'brother'. She would not say much more about the tea despite having to drink it, so he asked his fellow ally much to his dismay. The warrior explained that each warrior go through a special "Sky Journey" and that each one is different—some more dangerous than others. Just as he was told, he climbed the tree to collect the boughs.

Tsipporah watched as he reached the top and gathered a piece of the bark with his tomahawk, scratching her chin in thinking that it was the same weapon used for killing men. When he finally came down, he immediately went to work to brew the tea. The woman curiously watched him looking so focused in making it so much that she almost didn't blink. The native man froze and met her gaze, feeling her eyes trace him down.

"What?" he hissed and she turned away raising her hands on either side.

"Nothing. I'll just go back down the road. See you when I see you." And then she just trotted off, resisting looking back. That little girl would surely hate her forever for letting her father do this. Halfway down the steep path, she saw him drink from the corner of her eye…and kicked herself before she could cultivate the urge to run up to only slap the bowl from his grasp. Unconsciously, her feet took her down into the rest of the clearing where trees towered over her head. The open path continued on forever it seemed, but she didn't care. It'd be best to go back to the cave for now and see if the young one would try to do her in with her grandmother's hunting knife; she wasn't exactly subtle to those she despised. Perhaps she got such habits from her mother—or maybe, _herself_.

Further down the road, something flared up her nostrils. The stench was heavy and suffocating. She knew this scent: gunpowder. But how could this be? The girl's power has progressed so much that any outsider trying to reach the forest would be blocked out. Guess Tsyoka'wehkowa's power wasn't as stable as she thought it would be. The woman climbed up a tree to follow the smell until she ran into a large cage on wheels, driven by horses, and guarded closely by the king's men. Looking inside, there were natives. They were not the same natives as the ones she stayed with for their clothes were designed differently.

"_They must be from a different tribe_," she muttered, walking closer. Upon her next few steps, one of the guards turned his musket to her and threatened to shoot. The attempt of intimidation was rather faulty. "Cool story, bro. Why don't you tell it again?"

Before the other guards could lay waste to her, the captured natives suddenly cheered with one of the Mohawk warriors promptly pouncing on the men. His tomahawk tore into the man's jaw, and then dug into another. The movements were fast, precise. In minutes, the guards fell to their bloody deaths. When the warrior stopped to catch his breath, he turned to Tsipporah who gave a slow dramatic clap. She didn't really know what else to do.

"Where's tree-hug—my husband?" she quickly corrected herself. The warrior went to work on the lock that held the cage door. "He's still tripping on high, isn't he? How long before that fades out, _Teiowí:sonte_?"

"The tea of the Great Willow is a sacred drink and some journeys can last until the rising of the sun."

"You've gotta be kidding me…"

"Ratonhnhaké ton is strong. He will come to with powers beyond belief. And if you are truly the mother of his child, then you, too must have sacred powers."

"What makes you say that?" she crossed her arms as the warrior finally undid the padlock.

"Tsyoka'wehkowa's power has protected this forest from invaders, but she is growing weary. She must save her strength now that her father bears the power from the tea." The woman lowered her eyes at the thought of him. For some reason, it was making her chest hurt. The captured natives quickly slipped out of the open cage and into the mist of the forest, but there was a little problem.

**"Behind you!"**

Tsipporah snapped away from her thoughts and turned her head only to get her jaw done in by the butt of a musket. A curse spewed from her broken lip as she coughed. Before the guard could finish what he started, the burly Mohawk warrior kicked at his loins, causing him to arch his back in pain. And with that opening, he jumped on the other's back, holding a tomahawk to the man's throat. "Make a sound and you die," he hissed and turned to his ally, "You must go find Ratonhnhaké ton. He should be wandering the forest—his journey should be complete. You must make certain of it. The prisoners are free. You must go, now!"

The last thing she remembered was hearing his voice shouting warnings and to run. Her vision was starting to fail her. She had to get away for everything around began to spin; not even her ears were much help. Her hands and feet had to feel down the path until she heard more soldiers. Luckily, she merely tripped into a snow pile as their footsteps passed. The voices in the area started to blur until they were nothing more than nonsensical noises. The pain felt at her head faded…soon, she closed her eyes to the dizziness…

"_Connor_…"

* * *

The journey seemed to go on forever. He thought it to be a dream, yet once he woke, his instincts took over…a spiritual aid came to, and he hid very well from guards that tried to kill him on sight. Despite the pain he felt when he used his newly bestowed power; he swiftly drowned the men in their own blood. The power he gained was immense, overwhelming. Slowly, he felt sure that with it he would be able to match against Washington. Before he would decide to go back to the hidden cave, he had to retrieve his tomahawk. Those wretched blue coats have surely taken it while he was unconscious. It did not take so long to locate his belongings, though for even the nature of the wolves have reached his senses. The native warrior snuck into the blue coat encampment with the cloak of the wolves, covering every last trace of his body from the naked eye. Unseen, he took back his things, unveiled himself from hiding, and wreaked havoc on the men who would dare to take his life. His movements were more precise, he could see far, and no one could stop him.

Once he was done, he fled from the scene in the invisible cloak and into the forest. For a few moments, he would think that his daughter would not look him in the face as he has received the facial markings of one who has consumed the tea. His wife on the other hand…

"Food…" a rasping voice cried, "Please… someone…"

Ratonhnhaké ton stopped his wading in the deep snow and turned to the sound of weak whining. It was a woman with nothing but rags covering her, but more for her own child that shivered in her arms. He recalled that he skinned and collected meat from an elk before reaching this point. Making his way to the starving mother, he took off his satchel and offered the best that he had in storage. The woman rubbed her eyes as if she was seeing an illusion of this kindness, but all was true when she smelled the meat.

"Oh, sir…" she felt her eyes water and her lip quiver, "Thank you. No one… has ever stopped and offered like this ever since Concord was…"

"I understand," he took out a skinned patch of fur and covered her in it, "If you are able, there are other caves further down in the forest and dry wood to make a fire." The child in her arms reared up his head and smiled weakly in relief as the native man spoke those words. The woman nodded, attempting to stand on her bare feet, but nearly fell to the ground again. "Can you make it?"

"The ground is much colder than before," she grunted, holding her child against her bosom.

"Then I shall carry you to a warmer place."

"I do not want to trouble you, sir."

"It is no problem. But if you continue to stay outside, the both of you will fall ill." She smiled sincerely at his kind gesture and allowed him to lift her off the ground and down the snowy paths of the forest until there was an empty cave nearby. It was not so big inside, but it would do for the two. The woman thanked him once more and the child waved a farewell before the kind, native man disappeared into the snow without a trace. The mother and child gasped as he seemed to literally vanish into thin air.

"Mother…" the child squeaked, "Do you think he's an angel?"

"Perhaps, my son. Perhaps."

…

"Ratonhnhaké ton!" his fellow Mohawk warrior called out. The native warrior broke out of hiding from the bushes upon hearing his name. "Ratonhnhaké ton, I am happy to see you."

"Kahionhaténion," they gripped forearms, "Hello, my friend."

"Have you seen my brother?"

"I last saw him just before I climbed the Red Willow Tree. The same goes for my wife."

"We were tracking blue-coats and lost sight of each other. I am worried that he is captured."

"I fear you may be right," Ratonhnhaké ton looked away in í:sonte had taken care of his daughter while he rested for the previous months. He owed him the favor of aiding in the search of him. It vaguely made him wonder if his own 'wife' and child were alright. Blythe managed her powers without his permission as he realized. It is the reason why not many blue coats hadn't gotten through the forest as they should. There was no longer any need for her to not rest anymore. He had the strength of the Great Willow within him now.

"Was your Sky Journey successful?" Kahionhaténion asked.

"_Very successful_."

"Perhaps you can join me in the search for my brother. Any secrets you learned from your journey may be very useful." The other agreed.

"Such a great warrior must not be lost to us."

The two took off as the winter winds started to pick up. It did not faze nor bother the two since the tea's power flowed through their veins. Ratonhnhaké ton used his tracking skills that were now enhanced to make ease in the search. Convenient that his animal aid was the wolf rather than any creature of flight; it made him wonder if there is any other strength to be gained from this strange drink. They went on until they found a small encampment of blue-coats surrounding a large cage of captured natives. Immediately, they went to work to slaughter the captors and the prisoners cheered; some were Mohawk in knowing of their warriors' fierce blows. When they finished, they kept one alive to interrogate him. He did not resist or claim to be a blue coat, but was here hunting and saw other blue coats transporting other natives. Of course, they saw he was telling the truth, but still didn't seem so trustworthy. They followed him down the rest of the forest path until he spotted a transport carrying natives.

Sure enough, they were led into trap for he called out to those blue coats ahead. Ratonhnhaké ton sent out his spirit-wolf pack to feast on them for the kill. As they pounced, he and his ally went to finish the rest of the men until there was no one else standing. The native warrior went to punch off the padlock in one blow. The fellow tribesmen thanked him before scattering into the forest and one of them touched his shoulder.

"You have fought well, Ratonhnhaké ton," she nodded in the cage, "They have captured your beloved as well, but she is alive at most. The men found her in the snow before we were caught. She is freezing and needs to find warmth fast." She pointed inside the cage and there was a trembling figure with her eyes shut tightly, breathing through chattering teeth. Her body curled in discomfort to the weather more than ever. The Mohawk warrior went to her side, picking her up against his bosom. True, her skin was colder than the snow itself. What's more was the purple, swelling bruise at her jaw. Clearly, she was attacked. He hoped that Teiowí:sonte was safe, but he would face something worse no doubt.

"We cannot take her with us," his ally said more from concern, "She will die if she is not tended to."

"Yet if I do, your brother might—"a strong hand suddenly punched his chest rather abrasively and the warrior grunted at the shock.

"_You t-talk about m-m-me as if I am a b-burden_…" she shivered, narrowing her eyes. He would never tell her, but he was glad that she was still well. "I know he s-should be u-u-up ahead of us somewhere b-because I heard the soldiers t-t-talking."

"Thank you," he brushed his hand against her chilled forehead and lifted her firmly in his arms, turning to another man of the tribe, "Take her back to Clan Mother—guh!" _another punch to his chest_. "Do you want to fall ill, woman?!"

"_You are not a-a-about to put me back in t-that cave_," she fussed, "_I'm c-coming with you_!" He grunted, annoyed that this part of her was still in her persona. Even in such a weak state, she would argue with him. Her will was too strong to a fault. She pointed up the road with a shaky hand. Both warriors had no choice but to take her along. Seemed she cared for the liberation of the prisoners than her own life. The Mohawk warrior stopped in his track of thoughts at this. She was no different than the wife he knew and loved. It was causing more bruises to his heart than her punches. The longer she stayed with him in another time, the more she learned from him—his reasons for fighting. Ratonhnhaké ton cupped her more to him until her shivering began to soften, making him wonder if she was falling asleep. Curious, he adjusted his arm to shake her a little.

"If I wasn't a Christian…" she growled at him, but made no move of resistance. He smirked and continued to tread down the forest path with his ally. Tsipporah peaked through her lashes as the warmth of his body gradually thawed her frozen form. She was afraid to fall to slumber in his arms—not being so keen to give him that sort of luxury. Without realizing it, she saw her hand against the bare part of his chest. She gasped sharply, more alert, and pulled it back. The men suddenly stopped into a forest clearing, hiding behind the trees that stood there upon seeing more blue coats. Their kin were there tied to trees as if they were meant to be executed. The native man carefully placed the woman down against the tree trunk.

"Stay here."

"_Sure thing, b-boss_," she sassed like she had much of choice.

* * *

**It's cold in Florida! Why was I sweating in December and now I'm freezing in March? I hate FL-Mother Nature. :P**

**Anyway, here's the next chapter! Getting to work on the next one. Expect it soon because the next part of the DLC is almost out on the 19th. SO excited. **

**So here's a little update. Yeah, the woman is the OC, but... she's the alternate universe version. I dub her the 'Mad Hatter'. :D**

**You'll find out what Blythe is in this story, but soon we shall meet her sassy-kenway older sibling in this universe. Then some more tragedy that will strike some hearts, but that's how the DLC goes. **

**See you next chapter! :D **


	4. Sequence 04: Caterpillar Advice

"_It takes all the running you can do to keep in the same place."_

**Lewis Carroll**

* * *

Not much time passed when the Mohawk warriors slaughtered the bluecoats deemed to execute the natives they've captured. Their blood spilled into the virgin snow, quickly buried by the new snow falling softly. Both men whipped the blood off their weapons and went to work, freeing the captives. It was such wonder, though. As somewhat tactless as it sounded, Ratonhnhaké ton thought that King Washington had killed his mother knowing that she would attempt to stop him, but it was not enough. Left and right, he would capture not just the people of the Frontier, but his own people whether he saw them as a threat or not. Such musings made him worry. They would scan this land restlessly and ruthlessly in order to find every last survivor. Every minute of the day would be another rude awakening.

Once the natives were freed, Teiowí:sonte and his brother gripped forearms, glad that in his certainty that he has found him and the captives.

"It is thanks to Ratonhnhaké ton," Kahionhaténion turned to him, "You should return to the Clan Mother. She will want to hear of our adventure."

"Ratonhnhaké ton, we will make sure that these people are taken care of," then he flinched as if remembering something, "Yes…_your woman_. She was attacked by bluecoats before I was taken away. Is she well?" A woman's groaning in the distance answered for him. The men promptly went to her side where his 'beloved' was. "Ratonhnhaké ton, she is freezing!"

"I will make camp then," he decided, "If she continues like this, she will die."

"_I w-will n-n-not get sick_," she hugged herself tightly, pulling her knees up to her chest, "_I j-j-just don't do so w-well in c-cold weather_." The native man she followed sighed in annoyance, taking her into his arms before walking on with his fellow brothers. She would fuss, but her teeth chattering made it difficult to do so. Eventually, she gave up her protests. Rationally, it would be better to go back to the Clan Mother. He had done was he was asked to do, so why this extra break on the trip? For her sake? That was ridiculous. If they were to rest now, it would waste precious time. Besides, it's not like she could sleep by choice anyway, but he insisted. The men managed to find an unused cave nearby large enough for all of them to camp for the night. They also were strongly adamant on finding firewood, meat, and fur to make sure that Ratonhnhaké ton's woman would have enough to avoid a catastrophic fever. She sputtered at how she was being spoiled; sounding as if her condition was not much to worry over.

"_Y-Your friends a-are making a-a-a big deal out of n-n-nothing_," she grunted as the native warrior sat within the cave with her body close to his. He wondered if she had caught a frostbite being outside for so long, but she didn't seem to be in any pain save for the large bruising across her jaw. His eyes stared at it for some time until he unconsciously touched it cautiously.

"**Agh!"** she wailed, "**That hurt! Why would you touch it, mothe—"**

"Sit still," he silenced her as he went to his pack to pull out some wrappings, "Even if you are not my wife from the world I knew, you are still unbearable. You're like a child."

"_I-I'm like a child_?!" she moved her leg enough to aim to kick his healed injuries, but it backfired with her leg caught in his arm. She grunted in frustration, seeing that his reflexes improved over a short amount of time. Retrieving her leg would be a challenge now that her muscles were weakened by the harsh cold. She started to whine, sensing that she would lose this one. "_L-Let go of me_…" she pouted.

"Only if I have your word that you will cease your struggle to bruise me." She did not say, but her tense breath softened and her muscles relaxed. He released her then, taking his hand to place under her chin to turn her head to the side. Tsipporah sucked her teeth at the contact; both in pain and anxiety. He examined her wound, determining it to be caused by the butt of a musket. The impact did not take any flesh, but her skin was swelled badly. "Do you have any other injuries?"

She gently shook her head. Moving her head around only made the bruise sting even more. Guess it wasn't much of bother when she was out in the cold. The sudden chills rose back into her nerves, causing her to shiver uncontrollably. Instinctively, she wrapped her arms around herself—and in the same instance, Ratonhnhaké ton weaved his arms around her as well, pulling her close to his bare abdomen. She blinked once…twice…_wondering when he found the second to remove his strapping and wolf-cap_. It would unwise to break away from him, especially when he was radiating like the sun. Just when she was getting comfortable, a warm breath brushed on her lips…

"You seem to be getter warmer," he cradled her, finding himself losing his palm in her hair. She yelped at the touch to her sensitive nape.

"**Nonononononononono..."** she tried to get out of his hold, feeling a bit _too comfortable_. Suppose that tea didn't just give him the veil of the wolves, but the heat of one as well like a living furnace. The warmth was inviting, his defined muscles, his perfectly sculpted form, his beautiful face… Nope. Nope. Nope. _Nope_.

"I think I'm good for the time being, sir. We can go home now—"

"You gave me your word not to struggle," he stared intently, obviously having no intention of releasing her. She pouted, giving up on her notion. Given what she's seen of the natives so far, they are bent on promises. 'Maybe', 'should', or 'shouldn't' are not in their line of vocabulary. She sucked her teeth and mechanically snuggled into his chest as he leaned against the cave's wall. He recalled, even as they first met, his beloved would never try to cleave flesh from him from just merely touched. It was a strange feeling to be pushed away like this. The native man gently rustled through her hair unconsciously while they sat in quiet, absorbing each other's heat. Tsipporah began to close her eyes half-way. As she leaned against his chest, she felt the pounding of his heart fluttering the more she pressed up against him. It did not feel as much as hers—to be shaking anxiously in the company of a gorgeous stranger—no… the rhythm felt more of certainty. He knew exactly who he was comforting. She resisted moving away for once, somewhat curious of him now. There was no reason to pick a fight with him now. Something told her that she could trust him; that he was no definite enemy in wait.

"Um…tree-hugger?" she moaned, "Can I ask you something?"

"As you wish," he breathed steadily, making the woman more nervous to be near him.

"Do you think I'm weird?" He chuckled at the question as a response. Tsipporah wasn't sure if it was good or bad. People tend to avoid her due to her conscious mood-swings. She wasn't exactly the most social neighbor either, never being this close to new people and talking to them such as this one. She poked his chin defiantly as he tried not to think too much of her asking. "I'm serious! No one ever goes near me—not like this. People tend to avoid me like your people did."

"We avoid all strangers to our land. Do not take it personally."

"I take everything personally, boss; I can't help it," she fixed her head to look upwards and realized that she almost brushed against his cheek, so she looked back down sheepishly; "You're pretty cuddly for someone of your build and size."

"I would say the same for you. You are visibly muscular, yet…soft." He could never forget how her very structure felt. Even her hair was still the same, but more manageable. His hands made their way, gently grazing her scalp.

"Mm…" she closed her eyes.

"Oh," he retrieved his palm, "Forgive me, I was just—"

"It's alright, tree-hugger. I think I know you enough to know that it's okay to touch me." His cheeks became ablaze.

"What?"

"That's a Mohawk thing right? To not touch or make contact with strangers?"

"Ah… yes," he cleared his throat and looked away, "That much is true. It would be best to get some sleep. We must see Clan Mother in the morning."

"Alright, but can I ask you one more thing?"

"If it puts you at ease," he furrowed his brows, anxious to shut his eyes.

"…" she hesitated to ask at first, "Do you…er, believe in our Lord Jesus Christ?" She wanted to punch herself in the face for covering up her personal question with something completely off. The woman heard no reply after a moment's pass. Her eyes looked about before deciding to look up to his face. His eyes were closed; his face relaxed. He was asleep. Damn it. At least he didn't catch her stupid question that she never spoke of. She should really hold herself back sometimes. The cold under her skin was lifting under his heat along with his strong embrace. Tsipporah snuggled into him more, yawning into a calm stillness.

Ratonhnhaké ton merely failed to give in to slumber. He did not fall asleep immediately, though. In such a familiar presence, he would often feel relaxed as he would with his own family when he was young. As he looked at the woman who now thought him a stranger, he could only think of the early days of when they finally came together, officially…

* * *

_He stood at the end of the aisle with a stern face as always, but inside he was a nervous wreck and the emotion reciprocated in his eyes to say the least. His friends—the whole community of Homestead—squirmed in their seats waiting for the bride to arrive through the doors. It was a comical decision beforehand of who should escort her down the aisle for Godfrey and Terry nearly tore each other to shreds to be chosen. The bride, of course, chose them both since they would nearly break their faces should she dismiss both of them. Connor's heart skipped a beat as he heard footsteps nearing the door along with hushed voices tangled in a dilemma. The priest stepped up to the podium, asking for all to rise. Everyone rose with a purpose in knowing that the bride was to arrive with her escorts… and there she was. _

_Her dress came as a surprise as she would always wear something masculine, but did not look quite colonial. The only feminine attire they ever saw her in was when the French Queen came to Homestead, convincing her to wear something in her field and she did. Her dress was draped fairly of lace, floral, and some beading that one would see on native attire. The lacing itself seemed as such. Even her hair was brought down and subtle to not stand out as much. Connor flinched at how she appeared to glow and she resisted the temptation to giggle at his reaction. She examined him as well while the two lumberjacks took her down the aisle. He wore something of a captain's suit should wear, yet everything was more radiant and elegant. Dibs on that Faulkner made him wear such an outfit, but it delighted her nonetheless. Before she realized it, she was at the end near the podium before her groom. Tsipporah inhaled softly as she was internally screaming. Her beloved reached out and wiped her cheek generously; that is when she saw that a few stray tears were streaking her face._

_The priest smiled that she was just as nervous as her fiancé was, but wouldn't say otherwise. He went onwards with the phrases that would be often said in ceremonies: how marriage is beautiful, who objects, and all that jazz. Connor stiffened as the priest finally got down to the 'I dos'. Tsipporah felt her heart running out of juices._

"_Do you, Connor Kenway, take this woman to be lawfully wedded wife to have and to hold—through sickness and health, for better or worse, and through riches and poverty?" he assassin looked to his fiancé in the eye._

"_I still think you an insufferable woman. You call me 'naïve' when I am set out to do the impossible… yet you would support me without question and you are loyal as you are…unorthodox. But you are the only one I can truly see myself with than another. _I do_." _

_How blunt. He still insulted her though. Almost like how he joined the Brotherhood—no questions asked and just did everything without complaining, taking her hands in his as he spoke. That's when he found how much this was thrilling her. Her pulse was shooting the roof and he tried not to smirk, only giving her a chin up. The priest asked the bride the same question to which Angie hollered for her to say yes and kiss already. The bride thinned her lips, covering her eyes with a free hand as she felt a little embarrassed. When she lowered her hand, all could see the light-heartedness in her eyes that rarely reared its head when they would all come together. _

"_I thought I would never meet someone as great as you. You gave me a reason to believe that there is still hope and something worth fighting for and I love you for that. So, yes… _I do_."_

_Once the priest admitted for them both to share a kiss, the bride went for it since the other wasn't too keen on public showing of affection, but she warned of this beforehand. This was something done in the privacy of their home, according to his culture. Nevertheless, it was a colonial wedding, so it was the one custom to break just for this moment. He had to imagine them alone, weaving his arms around her waist to pull her closer to him, taking her lips sweetly into his. The hollering and cheering fell on deaf ears until they broke from each other for an Eskimo kiss. The priest then gladly dubbed them as Mr. and Mrs. Kenway. The bride—now a wife—liked the sound of it. _Tsipporah Kenway_. _

"_Okay, now we can have drinks all around!" Angie boasted and wanted to scramble for the door, but Fillan pulled her back to remind her that they needed to see the newlyweds out first. Speaking of which, she received dirty looks from the bride while her and her husband walked out, mouthing that she'll get some booze last. The others in the church laughed at her expression of dismay._

…

_The reception was a success for the whole community came together and was merry for the married couple. The whole ceremony was during the late afternoon and the reception finally took place in the evening at the inn. As a bridezilla would, the bride made sure that everything was in order. Although, making sure that everything would go right was a habit fixed in her system since the start of the revolution. Now that it ended, some forced habits never faded away. Connor wanted to be sure that his wound wouldn't get in the way of the later nights he would spend with his wife. The doctor did mention to "not get carried away". The reception was only meant to last until the early night, but of course, the whole community thought it to be a big deal that their landlord got himself someone special. The two newlyweds weren't left alone until it was nearly eleven o'clock. Both went to the manor, which they now had to themselves. It felt strange every now and then that the old man would not greet them in his cynical, caring way. _

_Tsipporah climbed up to her room to take off her poof of a white dress. Maybe making a Cinderella dress for a dream wedding should have stayed in her dreams. Connor did wonder how on earth she could practically float in such big attire if one could call it so. This is what she always wanted to wear on her big day? Women continued to surprise if not this one. He shook his head and came up the stairs behind her to give her a little push. His wife was finally near her door and not trapped between the wall and the railing._

"_Thanks," she huffed in exhaustion, "I'm gonna go take this off."_

"_In _your _room?" he raised a brow in question. She gave him a sarcastic look as if it was the most obvious thing. _

"_It's where I keep all my artwork, duh. I made this with my girl-friends here; I'll put it away safely." He quickly got in front of her, taking her by the shoulders. "Connor?"_

"_Your room is a storage room now. Newlyweds sleep in the same room or have you forgotten?"_

"_No, I didn't forget. I'm just putting this dress in that room and then I'll go to our room so we can…" she felt heat rise in her face and gave her husband a skeptical look, "You…you wanna to consummate the marriage?"_

"_Yes."_

_Shame she couldn't run around when her dress creates quite the handicap, leaving her to sway side to side in thought. Without saying a word, she went to their room, opening the door and looking back to her husband. She gestured for him to come, too, but there was no need. He scooted her inside, lit the lantern that sat on his dresser, and shut the door behind him, then skillfully locking it as if he expected even the most well-bred assassins to come after him. It made her laugh. He was preparing for war all over again._

"_You're so skilled with locks, so why not undo this one?" she had her back to him, playing with the tied laces that held everything together. _

_He froze for a moment, taking in what she suggested. He wasn't one for flirting, so he always had to decipher whatever she said. She eventually rolled her eyes, seeing that she always had to be direct with him all the time. Clearly, when they first made love, Angie was the one to tell him to just go for it…_and what to do, and what to say, and what how to do it_. Tsipporah turned to him, taking his hand to pull away his glove for him. Suppose the first time, he was confident—which made her wonder why he was stiffening now. She felt up his arm, to his shoulders, until she tipped his tri-fold. He kept his eyes on her as she moved as he would when they were out fighting; while they were on the edge. _

"_What's wrong, love?" she laid her hands across his chest while he sighed._

"_Once you done with this life, you will return home…"_

"_I know," she cooed._

"_Have everything you've ever had back in your grasp…"_

"_Yes, I know."_

"_And fall in love with another man."_

"_**It will not happen,"**_ _she gripped his collar threateningly, "I chose this place solely because I learn more from here than I do at home and because I love you—that's it. I have no regrets; at least when I go home, I can go home knowing the truth. I could marry again if I choose to, but love someone like I love you—never." His heart sped up as she spoke, but would never show it in his face as usual. She knew her words fazed him in some way for he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her in to press his lips against hers. It caught her by surprise at first when he slipped his tongue to meet hers gently. She didn't know he had it in him to take her so steadfastly. She smiled in the kiss as he practically clawed at her laced back to undo them, but she considered it artwork, so she gripped his wrist for him to stop and turned around as much as she could._

"_Like this," she took the top knots and pulled them slowly, loosening the entire structure of her dress. Connor shook his head, frustrated with how she made even the simplest attires complicated to undo. His wife took his reaction as negative, not wanting to finish the night. She silently started to curse herself for not being so appealing to the opposite sex when it came to flirting. She approached the bed, sitting upon it nervously. "Guess my lack of romantics has its downer endings, huh? …Connor?"_

_At first, there was no answer. She swore she saw him fully awake and felt his movements—perhaps not all of them. Suddenly, his bare arms weaved around her once more; a warm breath caressing her neck as her attire was forced to slip away. Such an obscuring, overwhelming amount of lace provoked his curiosity to see what was underneath. Of course, she had to wear something respectable for the ceremony, but the ceremony was over. He wanted to see all of her—to take all of her. Once she was finally out of that suffocating cage of fabric, she turned on him to rip away his jacket. She was unsure of what took hold of her at the moment, but the next thing she knew was her husband's bare chest inches away from her. _

_The very sight of him—his muscular, defined figure rising and falling in an inviting rhythm as anxious beads of sweat formed on his skin. Tsipporah felt her eyes glaze over as well as her emotions losing all rational thought. Her plump lips swelled with wanting to pleasure her giver. A ravenous moan escaped Connor's throat while she planted a trail of tender kisses down his abdomen. Slender arms wrapped his form, feeling at his back as he went through her unruly hair. It did not take long before she had every inch of him within the cavern of her mouth to arouse him further. He had often warned her not to do so as he would lose control of all of his senses and become aggressive. _It was no lie.

* * *

When morning came, shards of dim sunrays enveloped the entrance of the cave while the small bonfire continued to burn wildly. Both young adults basked in each other's company as they slept, unconsciously keeping warm as their bodies perfectly molded. The Mohawk warrior jerked a little as his ear twitched to the sound of nearby stomping of snow. His nostrils huffed sharply to take in some air into his lungs until he heard purring under his chin. Looking down, he saw the woman with her head laid on his naked collarbone with her mouth slightly open and her face completely relaxed. Once he moved to fix himself, a whine escaped her lips of worries. Ratonhnhaké ton was steadfast to her moaning, waking her from her somewhat troubled sleep. Slowly, she opened her eyes.

"Wassup, sexy?" she peeked through her lashes, yawning leisurely.

"I hear footsteps outside this cave. I must see what it is. You stay in here until I return." He got to his feet to stretch, realizing that he picked up on his woman's bad habit of leaning her back against something while sleeping. In another dimension, he would've been ashamed. His arms extended over his head until he heard a satisfying pop of his bones. Flexing a bit more, the muscles rippled at the tension they were under and would soon be in once he would leave this place. Tsipporah watched in amusement how his perfect body managed in the morning. It was quite the show. When he was done, he turned to pick up his weapons and the rest of his strapping. The woman averted her eyes to seem less perverse.

"How long do you expect me to stay inside and obey you, man?"

"If you value your life, then do as I say."

"Nope," she sassed, "I hate my life. I'll just get out of here—"he shoved her back in just as she came close behind him.

"Stay here. If I see or hear you take one step out of this cave, it will be your last." He brandished his tomahawk as he made his way near the entrance. Leaning out slowly, he cloaked himself as he ventured out further. There the footsteps were again that started to close in. He sprinted towards it as it could not escape his keen hearing. Upon inspection, he found the henchmen of the King scouting the area, stinking of fresh blood and sweat. It was too early in the morning for hunting…unless they did not hunt for animal skins and meat. The Mohawk warrior quickly climbed up a nearby tree as the cloak began to tire him in the direst way possible. His eyes thinned to the scenery to get a better view of them as well as a better chance of ambushing them. He heard them spoke. Their words gradually troubled him so:

"Those injuns were a lot of trouble, eh?"

"Yeah," a bluecoat sniffed, "They were tough as nails, but they had what's coming to them. His majesty would be pleased with the progress we've made. We killed their head elder. Should be disarray amongst them now."

"Those warriors were tough, yes. We gave it our all and we might get promoted. We should have a drink on it!"

"Hear, hear!"

The Mohawk's stomach churned painfully, but his eyes kept steady. Soon, he jumped onto the first man that dared to leisurely lean on the tree bark. The bluecoat had no time to react. Before his very eyes, his blood hastily spilled into the white snow along with his life. The others were startled, scrambling to load their guns and surround the savage and one by one, they failed miserably. As he would, the last one was left alive just barely. Pushing the shell-shocked soldier into the ground, Ratonhnhaké ton interrogated him with what they were discussing before.

"You say you slaughtered natives—where?" he growled under his breath. The bluecoat squirmed as the other's arm was pressed against his throat, and then suddenly ceased his struggle to give a cocky smirk. The warrior gave a questioning look, following the man's gaze until he saw other bluecoats approach with Tsipporah in a full nelson. Her nose was bruised, but she kept her chin up.

"Tsipporah…" he gripped his tomahawk, threatening to slit his hostage's throat, "Release her! She is not the one you want!"

"I guess all savages are all very daft, eh?"

"What?" he hissed.

"Guess you don't know how valuable she is. Guess not. Injuns…" he shook his head, "That Mohawk woman tried to steal the King's scepter by this colored woman's orders. She is in league with natives, it seems. Looks like you 'ave someone to blame for your complete extermination. _Heh heh_…" The woman struggled in the stubborn hold. The warrior stood slowly to his feet, switching his gaze between the men and her. Breathing in sharply, he vanished before their eyes. All of them save for the woman paled. They turned and searched wildly until one of their men choked on his blood. They froze in paranoia, not knowing where their opponent was. The only thing they could do was perish in the misery of fatal injuries.

Tsipporah sniffed her nose that was swelled with dry blood, looking to see if the warrior was still around. When she reached out into the air, he appeared, taking her by the shoulders.

"Are you injured anywhere else?"

"No," she breathed out a thick fog, "We have to go. Your people—"

"I know," he turned on his heel, dragging her to come along. It sort of puzzled her. Did he not hear what that soldier said of her? She is a danger to them all, so why drag her along? Perhaps this man was either too naïve or too deaf; she wasn't sure of both. They followed the forest path back to the cave that the people of Kanatahséton settled into. The snow was deeper than the day before, so they had no choice but to wade through it. It was quiet; too quiet. There were few noises by animals or by the people who were starving, groaning as they waited on the cold ground. He had said nothing to her ever since they left their campsite. Often, he would ponder on the words of the soldiers and how this world was compared to his own. His allies of the colonies turned against him and his people more than ever. Should he trust even the woman who traveled with him now? The question became louder in his head as he came upon his people who were lying dead in the snow along with the bloody bodies of bluecoats and the harsh smell of used gunpowder.

Clan Mother breathed weakly, clutching her staff as she was soaked in her own blood. Ratonhnhaké ton came to her side immediately to hold her in his arms, speaking her name softly; she blinked a few times, acknowledging his presence.

"_Ratonhnhaké:ton. Arnold's men followed your trail back here. Your brothers fought well but there were too many."_ She gasped in pain.

"I thought the tea…"

"_Gives strength, not immortality_."

"It gives me life! I've never felt anything like it!"

"_They have taken your daughter to their camp as prisoner. You must find her before…before they deliver her to King Washington. I fear they hunt her for her power. You must be careful. Respect the power of the tea, Ratonhnhaké:ton. Your mother was right to worry about the danger."_

"I am certain I can defeat anyone." Tsipporah would suck her teeth at his comment, but didn't want to interrupt a dying woman's request.

"_Good,"_ she gasped, "_First, kill Arnold and stop the destruction here. Then kill Washington. You must succeed…Ratonhnhaké:ton. If not you…nobody."_ The woman looked up to the sky as if the grayness of it contained a secret compass as to where to go next. The native man rose, laying the Clan Mother to rest. He turned to the trail before them where there were visible tracks leading into the west. Intuitively, he followed them and the woman followed behind. The silence between them lingered even longer with nothing but the wind sounding. It was starting to become a bit of a frustration that he kept quiet, yet she could say nothing. His village leader and other warriors have been slain. His daughter was taken by the King's men and his mother was long dead. Even his village was burned to the ground along with many of the people residing there—taken as prisoners to be executed or enslaved. Now every day, there would ashes, the stench of gunpowder into the open air, and blood wetting the ground. She eventually stopped in her tracks with her head hanging at the thought of him taking to the words of the soldiers.

"Ratonhnhaké:ton ," she muttered. The warrior stopped as he heard her call him in such a low voice. "Would you prefer to go stop Arnold alone?"

A gasp escaped his lips, turning to her in disbelief. It never crossed his mind that he should simply do this by himself; not that he couldn't, but still…"Why do you think now is the time to ask me this?"

"Because—"she shook her head, "Here I thought that if I lent a hand to the people, I would help them. It will not happen. And now—in a matter of weeks—your people and the people of the Frontier are all in grave danger. If I try to help you now, then you will suffer the same fate that is worse than that of your mother and I cannot let that happen. I will only hinder you."

"Seems to me that you are as foolish as you were in the past." Tsipporah paused to his response. What?

"Excuse me?!" she scoffed, "I'm worried for your safety and you call me a fool? Says the man who dared to fight the King and die!"

"And you saved me and deem yourself an obstruction," he hissed, "If running from all of this is your intention then I will not stop you, or did you think I would?"

"I cannot—"

"My daughter is imprisoned along with the others. I will stand here and waste my time arguing over nothing with you." He resumed walking away. The woman grunted and kicked her way through the deep parts of the snow to get in front of him.

"Fine. _Fine_. You save your daughter from the King's men because I will not." He just had enough of her opposition. His lip curled up, pestered to see that she was just going to give up after all that's happened. If there's even a chance that he could save the natives that were captured, he would. But this woman would not—seeing that failure was completely inevitable. It was just as she was when he first met her in his training days. He roughly grabbed her arm, practically dragging her behind him when she was already reluctant to follow. She was able, but didn't want him hurting any further. What is surrendering to the enemy without barely trying to go against them solve? Nothing.

"Let me go!" she fussed, "You will not succeed if you bring me along!"

"Nor will I succeed if you continue to stamp and shout. And you have done nothing to benefit me or my people yet. Your service will continue until I have defeated Washington."

"You can't order me around."

"No?" he forced her to face him, "Nor you should when the battle has barely begun. You will not only have others to die in your selfishness, but you will be shamed and executed along with them. Do not let it happen. But if you chose to fight, I will not let it happen." She only gave a skeptical look, slowly nodding. With that, he released; resuming his venture through the winter cold. He was pretty tough. After seeing all of this, he would go on. _So this is Blythe's father_…It made her ponder on the girl's condition. She has yet to see him and must miss him terribly; although, she wouldn't be so happy to see her father with the markings bestowed upon him by the Great Willow's tea.

"Stay here," he ordered as he vanished with the use of the Wolf Cloak when they neared a bluecoat encampment. There were two men speaking of the natives they had slain near the caves. General Putnam's name came up as well as the mention of a young native girl who killed three of their horses with nothing but a blank stare. He stalked them in and out of his cloak to save energy for he found that the use of it would take part of his energy, leaving him heavily fatigued. Perhaps that is what Clan Mother warned him of. When he was done eavesdropping, he returned to where the woman sat near the entrance. She nervously picked her nails as he came to her.

"I know where Arnold is, but the others are in Putnam's hands. I must kill Arnold first before we proceed. Once we are there, make sure no one gets in the fort and no one gets out. I cannot have him escape me again."

"Wait…" she pulled his arm, "Are you sure about this? To drag me along?"

"I am certain that you can help me." She thinned her eyes, and then jumped up as she pointed ahead.

"Ratonhnhaké:ton! A carriage with natives!"

Not just any carriage carrying prisoners, but some of his people including his aunt. He gave a sharp huff of air, brandishing his tomahawk.

"Do not let those men get in my way. These people need to escape."

"Whoa, you're just going to—"he dashed in his wolf cloak, "—Leave me here…_Really_?!"

* * *

There were voices whirling around again. It was starting become tiring to hear the muffled noises. When she opened her eyes for her vision to settle better, a sudden pain came through her socket.

"AUgh!" she sat up with a start realizing that her right eye was swollen shut. Trying to force it open only made the pain more severe than it already was. Blythe covered her eye and inhaled sharply as she got to her feet. Even standing proved to be a chore. Her legs refused to support her weight and gave way for her to collapse. This started to become more annoying than painful. She cursed under her breath of how she was unsure of where she was. Her available vision was blurry, so she couldn't take in her surroundings too well. Thank goodness her hearing was just fine. Her small hands found their way to… iron bars? She furrowed her brows, scooting her rear against what felt like a dirt-riddled ground. Wherever she was, it had terrible lighting and the smell was awful like a rotting corpse of an animal.

"You are finally awake." Blythe gasped as she heard a moderate voice speak to her. It sounded very familiar, but just as she was about to ask, it spoke to her again. "Those guards must have been exceedingly frightened of you to put you in a cell next to mine. These are where they put the really dangerous criminals."

"Criminals…" she repeated to herself, "I'm in prison?"

"Of course. Then again, you were unconscious for some time. I heard they slaughtered most of the natives they attacked—even their leader. Do not let them see you despair. They swell with pride to see children cry, it seems." The image of the warriors that looked over her as her father slept; all them… gone all in one morning. Way to start the day. Still, she would not cry. Inside, hatred bled and burned at her nerves with a vengeance. She only hoped that her father and the woman she found months ago were safe. This world was chaotic and he had died once. What if he were to again—_alone_?

"Despairing is not my style," she sucked her teeth, "I am past that phase in my life. Where is this place?" she still could not focus her vision well enough to see, even with the lights around her.

"Prison of course," he cleared his throat, "We're in Boston. A man by the name of Putnam is said to have his eyes on this place to steal it from another man by the name of Benjamin Franklin. We cannot let that happen. We cannot even let the King destroy us."

"Destroy us?" it did not sound of a matter of them dying, but sounded as if the King was expecting some sort of benefit from taking their lives, "What do you mean by that?"

"King George's scepter is no ordinary power. It is the Apple of Eden. A power to drive men mad. His heart and mind are weak, making him unfit to continue his campaign. Already he has killed thousands. Though…" he sighed, "If he kills those who have come in contact with something greater, then he will be unstoppable."

"So why does he want me—us dead?"

"Your hair is a curious color when enraged. It turns white—you have an extraordinary power."

"How do you know that?" she spat, clenching her hand into a fist. The boy chuckled in response.

"I am like you… Tsyoka'wehkowa." His words made her wish that she could see who she was speaking to. He sounded very close by—across from at most. However, it would take some time for her to adjust. "However, they are weak from fighting the King. I am due to be executed soon and I must escape along with the other 'criminals' the bluecoats have captured, but I cannot do this alone. I need your strength along with…"

"Along with what?" she finally pressed herself against the bars, her hands gripping them firmly, "Who are you waiting for?"

"There is a man the natives here speak of. His name is Ratonhnhaké:ton. I have a feeling that he will be able to aid us." She smiled to herself.

"Of course he will help us," she said, "He is my father." She received no reply for a moment, making her worry a little. She knitted her brows together in question as to why he stopped speaking. Her thought was quickly answered by the footsteps of men marching down what seemed to be a corridor. When she heard a door open and close eventually, there was shuffling across from her. "Are you still there?"

"Yes," he sighed, "The security here is ridiculous. Our very breath threatens them, but the men fear us. Use it to your advantage." She remembered the voice…those words. There were words she would hear from her father or her mother from time to time. Someone very close to her would say such things as well. When their parents weren't around, they would only have each other. They would play in the woods or practice in the basement of their home. Often, they would sneak onto their father's ship when he was on missions and he would not know until it was too late. They were trouble together and their parents would agree, but they were loved by them and by people who knew them.

"Who are you, stranger?" she breathed softly.

"My name is Moses—the natives call me _Maiis_."

"Maiis…" she whispered, a smile of gladness reaching to her ears, "_Brother_…I thought I would never see you again."

* * *

**And... boom goes the dynamite. Hey, everyone! We're going to jail. The next chapter of the DLC is coming out soon and I'm spazzing. We're going all going to Boston! We have to. It's written in our destiny. My favorite characters are held up in there and I heard that in Betrayal... interesting things happen. You'll see. :D**

**Anyway, yeah. Blythe found her older brother in prison. We'll all see each other eventually. Even some fan characters that you might miss. And don't freak out people; Rome wasn't built in a day, so don't expect the romance until later. Besides, there's still the adventure to be had... ****_even though it is getting pretty tragic_****. Aquila's back! ****I miss being a pirate!**

**See you in the next chapter, guys. **


	5. Sequence 05: Mock Turtle

_"I can't explain myself, I'm afraid, Sir; because I'm not myself you see."_

**Alice **

* * *

There it was, yet another carriage carrying prisoners of war, though, it is difficult to say that there is indeed a 'war' occurring in this day and age. Most of the natives they've passed by so far were captured after having their villages burned to the ground. Survivors were snuffed out from their safe-havens to be imprisoned. No one was safe. Tsipporah would have preferred a zombie apocalypse over this any day for it was getting worse by the day. She drifted to her thoughts of it as she distracted the bluecoats, keeping them busy from getting in her boss' way. Shattering jaws and fracturing bones back and forth, bluecoats met with the ground with haste. She deeply wished that she had her weapon at her side right about now. Dealing with these louts would be an easier chore with them, but the tyrannical king had most of her possessions after escaping him once; leaving her with nothing but rags and broken tools to drag around. The familiar frustration caused her to break the last man's skull open, instantly killing him. Looking back at her worn out fists, she pondered on how out of shape she was getting if her skin was getting so delicate in battle.

Once Ratonhnhaké:ton freed those of his clan, they thanked him warmly before fleeing to the woods—all but his aunt. Aghanashimi took a moment to inhale, and then wrap her arms around her nephew.

"Ratonhnhaké:ton," she mumbled in the embrace, "You are safe. Did you see the Clan Mother? Our tribe? Washington's men killed them all."

"I know," he replied as if it was nothing new. His partner jogged back his way coated in the enemy's blood.

"We are very grateful," his aunt released her grasp on him.

"I would help you with our people, but I must get to Valley Forge."

"Once everyone is safe at the refugee camp north of here, I will join you at Valley Forge to repay your kindness." It felt a bit strange for Aghanashimi to help him with anything due to her usually being reluctant to do so…_and verbally abusive_. However, there was no time to argue over it. This time is very different.

"No need," he said, "but if I see you there, I will be happy for your help."

"You may find other camps full of our enslaved people. They are sad reminders of Arnold's terror and devastation," she looked to his woman, "You both must hurry. They have taken your daughter alive—the bluecoats say that the king has some uses for her. I do not know what he intends to do, but I fear the worst." She turned to follow the others to the forest with concern paining her chest. The idea of Washington needing his daughter to do his bidding was enough to spike his anger. The woman with him knew exactly what he intended, but telling the girl's father would only have him sleeplessly looking for her. She bit her tongue to lessen the salt in his wounds. It would do no good. He would eventually ask since the enemy was arousing the notoriety of her.

"Come," he gestured for her to walk beside him and she obliged, "Something tells me that you know why Washington needs my daughter. Does he plan on using her for her power?"

"Well…" she gritted her teeth, "Duh. It's the same reason why he tried to capture me."

"Capture you?"

"Yes. I have certain…strengths that the average human does not have, but the mad king was convinced that it was my weapons alone that are strong. It is not the case—my weapons are special. They can only be carried by certain people—who I happen to be."

"You're not making any sense," he grimaced at how she was being secretive again, "What kind of people?"

"People who—"

"_**The savages escaped! Find them!"**_

Bluecoats scattered around the area after scouting and discovering the empty carriage where the prisoners should be. They cursed loudly, frantic that Arnold or the king himself would have their heads for this. The Mohawk warrior swiped the woman with one arm, diving into a large bush. She knew better than to break free for it would be death on both sides—him putting her to sleep by a tomahawk or the bluecoats shooting her brains out. Yep. _Rather be killed by the bluecoats_.

He veiled himself with the Wolf Cloak as he left the bush, choking each of the opponents that were there. In his ghostly appearance, the men froze with fear that the very air was killing them off at a rapid pace. Tsipporah blinked when it was over, nothing under a low breath that he was getting faster thanks to the tea. Everything was clear and quiet again after a while. They continued their way to where Arnold might be, but not without stopping to the next encampment where more enemies settled. What's more was that Putnam was speaking to another man intently. Ratonhnhaké:ton warned for the woman to stay close to him from this point now that they were officially in a restricted area. It's not like she had any other option. She wasn't going to be much use by herself, yet her boss would never believe that. Halfway through the hike, she kept trying to explain, but he seemed more concerned about the destination. Once they were on a hill close to the camp for hiding, Aghanashini stealthy met up with them from the trees.

"It is good that you two made it here safely," she huffed, "But Ratonhnhaké:ton, it is dangerous here! Guards everywhere and they stalk the edges of this camp with dogs." She pointed to the hounds that followed closely to their masters, "These are very good dogs, Ratonhnhaké:ton; alert with sharp eyes. If you even get many yards away from them, they yowl and bring the soldiers."

"Thank you," he nodded, "It's not safe here. Go home. You have repaid my kindness." His aunt smiled proudly, turning around to leave, but not without looking over her shoulder.

"You will succeed, Ratonhnhaké:ton," she continued to walk away, "_Ó:nen ki' wáhi_ (Goodbye)." It still somewhat disturbed him that his aunt shared the face of his mother so closely—almost made him not want to lose her as well. It was of little consequence. She is a grown woman, yes, but still no match for stubborn men storming into their lands and a tyrannical king whose bloodlust was unlimited. Tsipporah saw that he was nearly lost in thought and reached for his shoulder to get him out of his trance. It worked…one would suppose so. When she was just inches away from making contact, he instantly turned on his heel to grab her wrist in a threatening fashion; almost twisting it back for it to sprain.

"Whoa, hey!" she grasped the hand that tried to break hers, "Please don't. I value my right hand and it will end badly for you if you rip it off now." He narrowed his eyes, releasing her from his hold. She found it a bit annoying that he was a lot bigger than him; including his hands. "God, I was just wondering how we're sneaking into the camp and you wanna snap bones."

"Sorry," he scanned over the landscape, "It's a forced habit."

"I'm sorry," she sassed, "How are we married with children again? Did I lose a bet or something? Was all of this arranged because I am starting to be grateful that I barely know you—"

"_Quiet."_ She almost countered when she heard a dog barking in the distance. Not much of a distance when it seemed very close to them. The woman backed away a little, feeling that their position has been compromised. The warrior on the other hand went for it, pulling out scraps from his satchel and dropping it onto the ground. In the same instance, the guard dog stopped barking to tread its way to the raw meat available to it. "Quickly, you must follow."

The woman rolled her eyes, thinking him a little too insane for her liking. Then again, killing the dog would rouse the men even more. If not the cloak of the wolves, then the blanket of the mild blizzard that swept Valley Forge—which the woman did not take too kindly to with the cold weather. When the sights were clearer, they both sat in a hay bale watching Putnam speak to another soldier. Once he was finished, he meant to leave to his next location and so they pursued him stealthily. Ratonhnhaké:ton was careful to weave his way around the dogs and distract them. Putnam would look back once every few seconds to see if he was being followed. It peeved the two young adults to no end. In fact, the Mohawk warrior had to recede back into the bushes every now and then to not abuse his wolf cloak for it drained him so often. The two took to the trees when Putnam mounted a horse to gallop his way up and down a hill. The pursuit was starting to become so tiring that Tsipporah had forgotten about the winter cold as she felt beads of sweat form on her skin from leaping without pause. In front of her was the warrior, who did not falter in each step or tire. She resisted sucking her teeth at his stamina—thinking that the tea had nothing to do with that. Natives always did seem to have more energy than the common man of the colonies.

Finally, they stopped in one tree close to a fort that Putnam had entered. Tsipporah tried to catch her breath as she was not used to traveling for so long in one day. As Ratonhnhaké:ton watched the men guarding the front, he was looking around to see if there was anything he could use to distract them to slip inside. He would simply go over the wall, but he would have to use the Wolf Cloak for a significant amount of time. _Hmm…_ He took out some cooked meat to eat for himself. Suppose they were from last night, the woman tried to figure out how he finds time to get food. She wasn't very partial to meats, but seeing how she didn't have a bite all morning…that jerky is starting to look good.

"Are you hungry?" he offered one, breaking her trance of starvation. She gave a skeptical look as if she was going to refuse him, but snatched the meat from his palm and gnawed on it like her life depended on it. He gave a small smirk, turning his attention back at the fort. She was still the same when it came to manners. Around him, she had none, though; she did mutter a "thank you" when her mouth was full. "You looked a bit deprived ever since we left the cave. I meant to have you fed before, but—"

"It's fine," she wiped her mouth, "It's not safe anywhere and we're both wanted men. I don't blame you for my fatigue. We're bros, after all."

"Wanted '_men_'?" _There she goes, never acknowledging her femininity._ "Please. Never say that again. You're a woman." She pouted, guessing that he doesn't take on jokes lightly. Oh, well. There goes the attempt to be casual.

"I was trying to be funny."

"And I'm trying to think of a way past the guards," he hissed, "Now be quiet." The woman rolled her eyes, seeing that trying to socialize with him would just be a quick nosedive to calamity. Nope. He's just being rude. She wiped her hands with a handkerchief she kept in her pocket and sighed.

"Well, I'd continue this modest exchange, but you're being a total bitch—"

"What we need to do is free the bear—it will create the perfect distraction."

"Did you hear anything I just said?" she seethed.

"I will free it from its cage. Be sure to come after."

"What? Ratonhnhaké:ton, why do I have to—"

"Because I said so," he sneered, cloaking himself before dropping into the snow to proceed with his plan. Again, she was dragged into a plan before even voting whether or not she'd go along with it. Now she would have to otherwise he would get himself killed. He forgets: the tea has limits as his Clan Mother said. She watched his movements that an average human could not perceive. Leaning on a large branch, she waited for the bear's cage to open. When it did, the bear spared no moment to escape and slay the men that kept it captive. While the men were busy, she dropped into the snow to follow her boss. Sprinting without pause, she ran past the open gates where there was nothing but pure pandemonium. How she got past shooting muskets will forever be a mystery to her.

"How is it that I survive these things?" she sighed in disbelief and moved in time to evade a blow to the face. Rolling into the ground, she grabbed a bayonet knife from the ground to defend herself better since her fingers were too out of shape for the fighting alone. She scrambled to her feet as men came her way spewing insults to her appearance.

"It's that white-haired demon nigra!"

"That savage bringin' trouble! Let's see how they dance!"

White-haired demon? Well, that's a new one to add to the book. Conveniently, when she wondered where her native attendant went, they met back to back. It made her realize how small she really was compared to him and every other man here. How is it that the bluecoats would not feel threatened by this man again? Because he's a 'savage'?

"I see your tactics for disobeying orders never fail to precede you," he sassed. It was as if his very aura woke something in her once fatigued fingers to drop the knife she had in her hand into the next man who tried to grab her by the hair, leaving him yelping in pain. The other was victim to her infamous technique even the king did not know of. Her hand instantly found its way breaking through the man's sternum, splitting his rib open within, and clutching his heart with her naked palm and uncut nails. It was as if time stopped. The men stared agape when they had them surrounded. Even Tsipporah acted surprised, unblinkingly taking her hand back and did not figure that she just ripped the man's heart out in the same instance. Ratonhnhaké:ton's wife did tell him once as a threat that she could rip his heart out just as easily, but he never did see her do it. Recruits have—this was a first. Arnold had a musket in hand ready to fight. However, he now knew who exactly is trying to kill him.

He froze in fear at the over-gory sight both had displayed. The Mohawk warrior spared no minute for the dazed tyrant, brandishing his tomahawk once more as his wolf-aid scattered to sick themselves on their enemies. Once there was a fatal contact on Arnold's life, Tsipporah felt her bloodied hands burn.

…

Within minutes, there was a collection of shards breaking the area away until there was nothing but white dissipating. She gasped softly, thinking that she hasn't used this power in a long time.

"Do you not remember the Passage Field?" she heard Ratonhnhaké:ton's voice behind her. She shook her head. Unbeknownst to her, her hair was a blazing white in this dimension. "It was one of your abilities you used when I killed my targets. It was something I needed, which is why you had to travel with me."

"I know what this is…" she looked around, "I just never knew what it was for."

Arnold's weak grunting interrupted them. It made the Mohawk warrior remember his treachery to Washington that endangered the Patriots during the revolution. The dying man tried to sit up, but the native man pushed him back into the ground with his open palm.

"I've waited a long time to end your treachery," he seethed, "You escaped me once, but today you die."

"_Who are you?"_ he darted his eyes around, confused, "_What is happening?"_

"You know who I am."

"_I've never seen you in my life!"_ he blinked, recalling something, "_Washington's apple—he uses it to control men, you…you have to believe me. I was not in my right mind."_

"What you did at West Point was of no one's mind but yours."

"_West Point? I…I've never set foot in that fort in my life."_

"He's telling the truth," the woman had her hand on his chest, analyzing his every rhythm. The native man gazed at her before turning back to Arnold.

"_Please,"_ he gasped, "_Washington…he's gone mad. You-you have to bring him down. He's no more a man but a monster. Find Benjamin Franklin in Boston. He can help you, but you… you have to free him…"_

"Free him from where?" he pressed, "_Where_?"

"Ratonhnhaké:ton, I can't hold this place forever…!"

"…" he rose from Arnold's side and waited for reality to fall into place.

…

Everything fell back into place, yet there were no bluecoats around save for those who were slain. It was eerily quiet. The two pondered on Arnold's words. Their only hope of progression would be to find Benjamin Franklin, but to free him? Was he imprisoned somewhere? It boggled the warrior more than the woman. His daughter didn't seem to be here, so there was no point in staying. Tsipporah stared immensely as he dove into his thoughts, noting on how intense his eyes were. One could only tell what was on his mind. Having knowledge that his people were being mowed down would break anyone's soul. She wondered of his sanity if something were to happen to his daughter. Knowing Washington, he wouldn't have her killed immediately. He may have been blinded by power and greed, but he wasn't stupid. The woman looked away when she realized that he was staring back.

"What?" he sneered. She only exhaled for moment before letting her hand lay on his. Comforting wasn't her best card for play, but just this once…

"I promise your daughter will be saved."

"Tsipporah, don't—"

"No," she pressed, "Whether you're a stranger to me or not, I can't let you lose one more family member. Your mother knew the risks, but your daughter does not." He bowed his head, not wanting her to see his face. It was as if he was hearing his beloved all over again during their days of training. "What do you need me to do?"

"We need to get to Boston," he raised his head, "We must prepare." He entwined his hand in hers more. The woman gasped softly as she watched their hands mold into each other perfectly like they've done this a thousand times over. Her anxious gasps started to burst into reassured giggles. Ratonhnhaké:ton shook his head, taking his hand back. "We must leave this place. It is not safe to linger."

"Wait," she recalled, "Wasn't Putnam in this fo—_Ah_… **ugh**…" a sharp pain entered her calf muscle, leaving her in shock from the sudden shot. The Mohawk warrior looked around if there were any enemies still around. They should have left when they had the chance. He scrambled to her side, holding her up towards him.

"Tsipporah!" he cried, holding her face up to keep her awake, "No, it's only a flesh wound…Tsipporah, stay awake." It must have been a musket-ball ripping through a main artery. She painfully sucked in her teeth to pacify the discomfort in her nerves; her blood spilling into the snow rapidly. He tried to remain calm, quickly ripping some cloth from his satchel to wrap the wound and escape with her. "Stay awake, Tsipporah—we're leaving now."

"Forget it…" she coughed, feeling a lump form in her throat, "Just get out of here before the shooter comes. You can't save your people if-if you're dead—"

"This is not the time to…" he heard footsteps behind him the last moment. He turned to see who it was, but it was too late. There was even no time to take his weapon in hand and strike. Putnam took the handle of his pistol and clubbed the side of the native's head, smiling sadistically over his body.

"Got you," he announced in his victory. The woman tried to sit up to reach for her boss, but was forced down on her neck with the boot of a mad man. "That was quite a show you put on there, wench. I heard of how women rip out the hearts of men, but who knew you had such ability. Oh yes, the king would enjoy taking your head. You and this man. Who would think—shot him point blank and survived. Ha! This is rich!"

"_You don't need him…!"_ she struggled, "_He's just another native; you don't need him! I'm the one you want!"_

"Oh no," he wagged his finger at her face as a bluecoat dragged Ratonhnhaké:ton away, "He's a little gift to the king, but you… the king will take pleasure in taking you in himself. Hahahahaha!" More bluecoats appeared to take them away, dragging the woman like a rag doll to a wooden carriage until she fell unconscious. "Looks like she's still dangerous even without her little toys, huh? We'll see how strong she is when at the feet of the king." Putnam then picked her off the ground to see her face, haughtily thinking she wouldn't fight back with her worn out hands and now injured leg.

…

The woman sat in a wooden carriage along with her boss—captured. Only, she was the one who was gagged due to trying to bite away at Washington's men when the rest of her limbs failed her. Her tired hands were tied behind her back, too. If only she had more power, then this wouldn't have happened in the first place. And the throbbing in her head gave her no peace from getting knocked in the head several times before releasing a poor soldier from her jaws. Not that her boss was less violent. Tsipporah quickly sat up the best she could to extend her foot to wake him. It worked eventually.

"_Mmph!"_ she muffled as her foot made contact with his side. It was starting to puzzle her how fierce men with tomahawks and knowledge of the forest would be caught by a bunch of sassy soldiers. Men and their guns…

Ratonhnhaké:ton jerked from the rude awakening of rabbit kicks and finally sat up. At first, he was going to lecture his partner not to ever wake him like that, but then felt his hands forced behind his back, seeing that he was bound. On closer inspection to her, he saw that she, too, was bound and gagged.

"Your wound…" he remembered, looking down to her leg. There was still some blood flowing over a dried streak, but she didn't care much for it. Her boss was safe…for now. She saw the worry swell in his eyes and she couldn't answer back to lie—to say that everything was going to be okay. All she could do was writhe in pain.

"Oh-ho!" they heard a voice from the front of the carriage, "Enjoy your nap? It's a shame about ol' Arnold, ha ha! The look on your girlfriend's face when I shot her, but you—heh—I had to laugh at your expression when I hit you. Great big eyes and then out! Out like a light!" He laughed at the recollection. Tsipporah was stuck on the part when he mentioned that she was this man's girlfriend.

_Um…no. Flattering, but no. Just no._

"God-damn you, Putnam!" Her eyes went big when Ratonhnhaké:ton spoke. Come to think of it, she never heard him curse before during the months she spent with him. It sort of blew her mind like hearing a toddler drop the F-bomb; although, this was hardly the time to laugh. Her thoughts were cut by the motion of him trying to break free of his bounds. He grunted and struggled, but it was no use.

"You woke up just in time," Putnam said, "We'll be arriving in Boston—the town that'll soon be mine! Washington will love it: 'Look sir! The man who defied you! The man you shot point blank! I give him to you as a little gift! Him and the girl who bears the calendar of the future. Haha, he wears a wolf hat, too!" This childish taunting has gone far enough. The one man who once called him a 'hero' threw him in the back of a slave cart like he meant nothing. The man who was worthy of humbly being the Commander in Chief was now a mad king who killed and enslaved all who opposed him. What is this place?

"You have gone mad! All of you!" in his rage, Ratonhnhaké:ton slammed himself against the back door of the cart, giving almost the whole compartment terrible tremors. Tsipporah had some trouble sitting upwards after some impacts and stomped her feet into his back for him to stop. In her frustration, she grunted as she finally spat out the gag.

"Jesus, man!" she sassed, "You're wasting your energy for nothing. Sit down."

"Do you not understand the dire circumstances of this?!" This certainly wasn't the time to panic and he may as well panic with all that stamping and shouting. The woman narrowed her eyes to his words. "How can you be so calm—"

"Shh…" she hissed, "Shut the fuck up. Park it—_right there_."

His lip curled up in anger, not very keen on taking orders from anybody. They had a little staring contest as he stood. What Tsipporah learned from her stay from the natives, standing in an argument is a show of defiance, so she stood until she was inches away from his face. It almost intimidated her—his height and build—but she didn't want to back down, otherwise he won't be given a reason to listen to her.

"You do not give orders around here," he seethed in a low voice.

"And you're not gonna look down on me unless you have some bright idea on escaping. Let's hear it!" she hissed back in a whisper, "Now—just for once—calm the fuck down and think of something. This asshole's taking us to Boston anyway. All we have to do is find Benjamin Franklin and everything will be fine." The Mohawk warrior kept his face stern and his chest heaving from anger, but even with an injured leg the girl stood her ground. The last thing he wanted was for her to lose more blood just to 'tame' him. Keeping his chin up in defiance, he slowly sat down without averting his eyes from her. The woman followed suit, secretly feeling exhaustion rise in her from the blood loss. Her leg started to feel colder than it should.

"Will you be alright?" he leaned in forward. It was a small space, so his face was inches away from hers. Her eyes started to flutter.

"Yeah," she grunted, "That sock he put in my mouth tasted awful though. I thought I would never say this, but…I hope you manage to kill this guy."

"…" he sighed, getting to his feet again to look out the barred window at the back door. There was nothing but the tracks the cart was leaving behind and dirtied snow. It was as if the land itself was bare. Winter alone did not kill everything in its wake. He turned back to his partner who fought the temptation of slumber. She hung her head low as it ached with faint bruises. He recalled how his beloved was arrested along with him, fearing for his safety. It made his chest heavy that he might have to watch her helplessly be tortured—worse—by someone who wants her dead. A plan started to take root in the back of his mind of how they were to escape now that he had the strength of the Great Willow within him. When he looked to the woman again, she was already looking at him with curious eyes. Her expression took him off guard.

"What are you thinking about?" she softly asked. The look on his face simply told her everything. She smiled a little as if he gave some sort of reassurance while Putnam continued his taunting.

"…With that, he'll kick out Ben Franklin for sure and Boston will be mine. It's in the bag—just like your head. Oh yes, you will make for quite the gift!"

* * *

Blythe tried to hold back on rubbing her injured eye lest she would irritate or so her mother would claim every time she'd hurt herself. However, her other eye managed to heal from the pain inflicted. Once it did, she took the time to take in her surroundings to see if there was a hole or somewhere she could escape out of. She saw her brother across from her, leaning against the wall as if he was in a time out. It gave her some peace that her older sibling kept his cool in tight spots like this—something that rubbed off from his father. Although, she knew if he was being this quiet, then he was surely plotting something. Whatever it was, she was probably going to be the one to make the first move before he joins in for his plans were always laid out as such. Moses had his arms crossed, looking into the air while he waited for an epiphany. It puzzled him as to how he got here, but there his sister was—but the people around him didn't even know who he was. Like the analyst he is; he has to assume that this was some sort of plane in the nexus where he did not exist nor did Blythe. Yet here she was, trapped like him. Curious.

"(Moses)?" she spoke in Mohawk for some passing guards nosing about, "(You do remember me right)?" He inwardly sighed that it was the sister he knew.

"(I was beginning to wonder when you would call me 'brother'—perhaps never. I had to do some wordplay because this place seemed a bit off)."

"(What do you mean 'off')?" she looked to the side and turned back to him, "(Papa's mother was alive! I saw her and the people of Kanatahséton were still living in their village, but… they all died. The village burned to the ground and the people slaughtered)." Her brother bit at his thumbnail, a little envious to hear this. He's always wanted to know how his father's side of the family tree was like—to meet his grandparents would be grand as for his mother as well. Both were impossible. "(His mother gave me her knife, but I think the soldiers took them. They killed the village leader and the other warriors to get me. You said they want us for some power…?)"

"(Our parents are descendants of Artemis. Mother told me of this, but I do not think she said much to you has she)?" his sister shook her head, "(Well, we'll have all the time in the world to talk about it. I promised her that I wouldn't say much until you are older—)"

"(Why does mother hide these things from me?!)" she banged the bars, "(Papa's mother wouldn't have to die if I knew I had powers inside…)" Moses lifted a brow in question.

"(Little sister, did father not tell you)?"

"(Tell me what)?" He pinched the bridge of his nose.

"(His mother died years ago when he was younger than both you and I. How is it that she could be alive at all? He told me that he saw her get buried under burning rubble)." Her working eye widened at the news. There was no more room for shock in her system because adrenaline's been filling her since she woke up in this nightmarish place. Her brother sensed her onslaught of anguish, but could do nothing to comfort her for this was reality. Or was it? With the fill of these events, there could be no telling if it was. "(We must leave this place at once before morning. If we stay here—)"

"**Keep quiet in there savage; what with your grunting and gibberish!"**

Both siblings fell silent, not taking too well in being called 'savages'. Moses didn't really take in the insult as bad as his sister did. He inherited his mother's complexion and some of his father's features whereas his sister was tanner with freckles. He shook his head and approached the cell's bars, hearing a blitz of yelling with footsteps in a struggle. Blythe raised her head once more to see what caught the other's attention.

"**Keep walking!"** the guards were pushing new prisoners down the walkway until they were thrown into their cells. Both siblings caught a glimpse of their faces and turned wide-eyed. Blythe wanted to scream with joy to see that her father was still alright; hell, even seeing that woman made her feel safe, but slowly lost some jubilant spirits as she saw that her leg had been shot at. They waited for the guards to leave their prisoners alone to simmer in frustration after locking them in their cells. Luckily, they placed him next to her with a wall containing a hole. The girl sputtered that the hole was higher than her, but threw her arms up to pull herself up.

"Psst! Papa!" she grunted through the hole, "_Papa_!"

Ratonhnhaké:ton shook his head to get his visual straightened out. Those guards at the entrance of the prison gave him no quarter while he was tied up. They took the opportunity of roughing him up when he was bound. The same went for his beloved. He finally broke from his bind; rubbing his wrists from the discomfort until he heard a small, familiar voice…He stood up immediately, looking for the owner of that sound. The wall by him had a hole just up to his height where there was a small face of his image looking back at him. He gasped softly.

"Blythe…"

"Wassup?" she gave a dorky grin as she heard the worry in his voice, "Fancy seeing you here, papa." He would be glad to see her even more if she was unharmed. The conspicuous, dark swelling that shut her eye gave him no peace. "Papa, you wouldn't believe what happened. After you and that lady left, bluecoats came and—"

"I know," he looked to the floor, "I saw Clan Mother. I was afraid you were…"

"I'm sorry I keep worrying you. What good am I if I keep freaking my parents out? Heh," she smirked, "Moses is no different."

"Why would you say that?" She turned her eye to the cell across from hers, dropping from the hole she stuck her head through to rest her cramping biceps. His son made no move to be acknowledged as his father turned to see him. Mixed feelings of terror and gladness filled Ratonhnhaké:ton to see his own flesh and blood in this wicked place. Both his children were in his living nightmare. Moses parted his lips as he saw his own reflection looking back at him from an angle. "(My son…)"

"I do not think mother would approve of you being thrown in jail again, _rake'níha_ (dad)," Moses was not much for heartwarming reunion like his mother, "Now I know why some of your adventures are confidential."

"Guys, quiet!" Tsipporah hushed them all when she started hearing footsteps enter in. The children froze in their places, especially Moses who had hoped his mother wouldn't know about this so called '_adventure_'. "Actually…now would be a good time to form a plan now that we found lil' mama."

"Ugh," the girl grunted, "Papa, why is she here?"

"Quiet! She wanted to see you safe; show some respect."

"Why should I? And you!" she accused, "You drank the tea of the Great Willow didn't you?"

"How would you know of that?"

"You don't think I know what those markings are? I'm not stupid, papa. You said you wouldn't drink that stuff and you did. Your mother said it was dangerous to drink it, but you defied her!"

"Blythe, now is not the time…"

"Forget it, papa. Just forget it."

Moses rubbed his nose, raising his brows. If there's anything with his sister to know of is that arguing with her is suicidal. Anyone could go so far for her, but one slip-up and she will turn to ignore someone for days on end. And the woman who had the face of their mother—was she not her? She didn't seem so emotionally attached to anything Blythe spoke of. She had a bad habit of talking back to adults, but there mother was to straighten her out. It didn't happen. Ratonhnhaké:ton sat back on the bed that was in his cell with his face in his hands. His weapons and hood were taken away from him. All of his supplies were gone. Tsipporah sniffed as she held pressure on her leg. A dirty place like this was sure to get her leg infected. Shame, they took her things. Maybe now that they were in Boston, she could find her most prized possession, though; the idea of searching for it had been pushed to the back of her mind when she saw his daughter upset.

"People, calm down. We'll be out of here," she ripped a piece of her clothing and wrapped her leg, "Just wait for the opportune moment—no need to lose your heads."

"Don't frighten them more, Tsipporah," the native man sneered.

"_Oh sure_, like the bodies littering the forests and streets didn't hit home."

…

Later that night, the children fell asleep in their cells, leaving the adults awake to the eerie silence of the prison's poor lighting. Ratonhnhaké:ton peeked through the hole in the wall, seeing his daughter curled up and shivering in her slumber. The least he could do was watch her for now as well as his eldest son. Such a sight kept him from sleeping. All he could ponder about was getting them to safety save for the musings of speaking to Washington. It was starting to pester him that even with the power of the tea, he still got captured. At least, with it, he could escape, but his children had to be escorted out as well. He would have to rethink his strategy now that the danger would mount for them.

In fact, his wife's memory would help right about now. Ever since Juno let her live two lives—never to come between them again—she told him everything that her peers of the First Civilization were being so secretive of, what his ancestors have done up to this point, and what his actions reflect on the future. At last, she could release all that tension without Juno stating the consequences. Would it really be so bad for him to know everything? Artemis thought it to be fine, only that Connor would be the only one and not the others of the Brotherhood. If only he knew the truth of the observers' doings, then perhaps some stress would be lifted off of his shoulders of the questions he might have had. Everything he asked—she answered in great detail. _Everything_. And thought there would be no consequence…

Ratonhnhaké:ton sighed as he laid flat on his back to look into the darkened ceiling. He would have to use all of his knowledge to escape this place. It was a nightmare once to be in a prison. He did not want his family in his wars.

"You still awake, tree-hugger?" he closed his eyes, already knowing who spoke out. "We need to get out of here fast. It has to be tomorrow; these kids will not last here. There are people that want them dead."

"I know," he exhaled calmly; "I have long dreaded that this day would come. The revolution ended when they were born and this country was free, but…I always knew that one day the danger would find them and take them away. We—my wife and I trained them to defend themselves ever since they could speak and walk. However, they were not prepared for this. If I were to lose them now…" his voice began to break at the thought, but he restrained himself from losing his composure. They were still here. Pondering would help him less.

Tsipporah pursed her lips at his words, sensing how frightened he must be for his own flesh and blood to be endangered. His people were falling one by one, but to see his own growing children fall…"There is something here in Boston that could help both me and you. It's more of a use to me, but once I have it—I'll be able to give you a better hand than I do now."

"You have proven yourself to me. However, if you are willing to push yourself, then I welcome you to it."

"You won't regret it, Ratonhnhaké:ton, I promise," she gripped the bars, wishing that he was closer for some reason. Even though they were in the same holding room, he felt so far away. It was strange to what this empty feeling was. The Mohawk warrior was beginning to feel the slumber finally take him in. his eyes became heavier and heavier. The woman felt cold, alone in her cell and wanted to reach out for him…for some reason. Why? She barely knew him; she did not know anything about him save for his mother; he seemed childish in thinking he could boss her around and call her weak. His cynical insults made her do things she never thought she could do, yet his very presence made her feel safe. Every time she would fall asleep, he would be the last thing on her mind…

"Connor…" words automatically escaped her mouth, "Connor, are you still awake? _Oh niiawenhátie_ (What's happening)?" It felt as if something or someone was taking her over and these words weren't hers. Tsipporah grunted as she was clutching her head until her nose bled. After a minute passed, the strange feeling passed only to leave a throbbing pain after. She tried to catch her breath, thinking that she'd better sleep before the guard comes back around. Wiping her nose, she wondered what came over her. Who's Connor? Why did she speak fluent Mohawk? It didn't really matter at that moment because she had to prove her worth to Ratonhnhaké:ton and his children. They were strong as a whole, but knowing Washington, he would tear them apart. There was work to be done. And it had to be done once they all wake.

* * *

**And you will soon know why she's called the Mad Hatter. :P**

**More action in the next chapter-jail-break, old friends come back, betrayals-the good stuff. More romance, I promise; the romance that brings everyone together. Like everyone else, I am waiting on the final chapter of the DLC. Whether Connor goes batshit crazy in the end or not, I'm am still making a safety-net because I love that man... so much. ;_;**

**I mean, when you look at his life since his childhood, he doesn't deserve the sort of bitter endings that he gets. All that hard work and no canon-girlfriend-nevermind. He's good, but if he gets a girl, I'll be depressed. Haha. XD**

**Anyway, we meet Ben Franklin next and we see more of his children act out, too. And Tsippy has a surprise 18th century weapon someone blogged about and I'm gonna use it! **

**Stay tuned! :D**


	6. Sequence 06: Cactus Race

_"I don't think..." then you shouldn't talk, said the Hatter." _  
**Lewis Carroll**

* * *

_Connor wasn't sure how to process this wave of information—information his wife was specifically ordered to keep from him all these years. Since day one of their meeting as children, she's had strange dreams and meetings with the white figure they knew as Juno. This figure of the First Civilization told her secrets shared for thousands of years since the beginning of time when man and woman were created. Eve curiously took the Apple of Eden and shared its contents with Adam—an act that shouldn't have occurred. Only cursed moments could continue from this mistake. Everything the ex-observer was told was shared with her husband; up to the Civilization's reasons for retrieving the amulet. It was just as the Mayan shaman explained—the world would end in the 21__st__ century. The assassin furrowed his brows at this._

_"And this is all why you were brought here?"_

_"Yeah…" Tsipporah looked to the side to avoid his gaze, "Your descendant in the future will have to find the amulet and the temple here. Once they do, they can save the world. Juno…pretty much said it better to me and Angie—to the observers than the Brotherhood. Personally, I didn't think it was fair. I wanted to tell you, boss."_

_"Then why did you choose not to?" his eyes bore into hers. His beloved raised her hands either side as if she was not to blame._

_"She told me if I did, bad things will happen. I didn't want people involved in our problems. Your people were neutral."_

_"And now my people are gone…" he cast his gaze to the floor as he stood in the sitting room. The novice bit her lip at his words. She knew to keep some comments to herself, but…_

_"It was inevitable. At least we know them to be alive somewhere than dead. It's better that way—"_

_"I do not want to speak of this, Tsipporah," he snarled under his breath as he spoke, silencing his wife. Her first thought was to leave the room so Connor would have the space for himself, but that wouldn't be right. Despite the terrible things that befell her best friend these past several years, she partly felt responsible. It was a slow death within her to see him is rewarded with nothing but pain and bitterness instead of things he should deserve—like __**peace**__. But he didn't want her pity. He told her before. Every time he would try to avoid anything that caused him pain from the past, he would dismiss it entirely and his wife would snort…like she is right now. Connor tilted his head to side, sensing that she might ignite an argument she was destined to lose. "I will not say it again."_

_"Okay, then I won't, tree-hugger," she raised her brows and got up from her seat to exit the room—which became impossible now that her husband took her arm. She sighed roughly. "Yes, love of my life?"_

_"We are not done talking."_

_"I know we're not, but can we argue in the kitchen where we can have a debate and eat?" she gritted a forced smile while Connor only narrowed his eyes. "What? Why are you staring at me?"_

_"You've been eating much lately," his voice lowered, "Are you not well?"_

_"I dunno, babe," she sassed, "I have? I didn't think it was a health issue. I know I get really hungry after running around so much…"_

_"No—not that," he pointed out, "You've been eating as if you are eating for two people." He loosened the grip on her arm and felt her forehead, "Perhaps I should have Dr. White have a look at you."_

_"Connor, I—Connor…Connor, I'm fine—Connor…" he kept looking about her, checking her pulse and forehead for any abnormalities without heeding any of her words. It amused her for a few minutes that he did, since he would worry for her health than his own. She thought it was very cute…not that she would say it aloud (he hates that). "Do we really have to go to the doctor? Babe, I feel fine—"_

_"I'm taking you to Dr. White."_

_"No."_

_"We will not argue about this!"_

_"Okay, then I'll be in the kitche—"he took her into his arms as if she was a wounded soldier. __**Alright.**__ This was cute and funny the first few moments, but now he's getting too carried away with this. He took his reluctant wife out the front door. All she could do was cross her arms, huffing at how her husband was overreacting. She couldn't help but smile a little at how the people of Homestead were smiling and giggling at how they both looked together. Ever since the wedding, Connor's been on edge of how his wife was to bear children. When she explained how it would happen, he nearly curled in anxiety at the thought of coming together with her again. Surprisingly, he found himself more determined to do it. When they reached the clinic, Connor finally placed Tsipporah back on the ground. She was far from amused now._

_"Are you alright?" he brushed the curls from her hair._

_"I should've farted in your face when I had the chance," she said, deadpanned, "Other than that, my head feels a little boggled."_

_"'Boggled'?"_

_"From you throwing me over your shoulder the way you did!"_

_"Is everything alright out here?" Dr. White entered upon the wedded couple, "Ah, Mr. and Mrs. Kenway! What brings you here?" Tsipporah stared blankly for a moment, still letting the 'Mrs. Kenway' title sink in. _

_"My wife's eating habits are becoming a bit…eccentric. Can you please examine her?" The novice stood by internally screaming at her husband to worry over every little thing. When he wasn't looking, she made faces until he turned to her. "I just want to make sure. Have the doctor examine you. It will not take long." A slow mischievous grin grew on her lips as he gazed at her. _

_"What is it?" he asked innocently._

_"And you said you wouldn't make a good husband…" she followed behind the doctor to the next room to have a checkup. The doctor briefly explained that he should come back for her in ten minutes or so. Connor agreed and trailed off back to the manor. However, it did not calm his nerves. It was not just her eating habits that altered it. She would tire easily, have muscle spasms, and complained of a headache one time. He wondered if she had come down with something. The assassin did not pay much attention to how much time has passed as he sat on the roof of the manor looking out to the forests._

_"Hey, babe!" someone called to him. He raised his head, seeing his wife below with her hands proudly on her hips. Promptly, he dropped down and ran to her side. "So…the doctor says that it might just be my menstruation coming up or I might be pregnant. I'll just wait and see if I do start dropping red by the end of the month."_

_"Menstruation…" he heard her speak of the word before, but never knew what it really meant. Tsipporah resisted laughing at his face. Did he really not know what it was that whole time?_

_"So all these years with me and you never figured why I was so moody every end of each month? Or why I use extra cotton under my clothes?" his expression was priceless. He really had no idea. "Well, when you bleed non-stop for three days, expect there to be a lot of pain, frustration, over-eating…yeah."_

_"And this has been happening for years?" he gestured his hands, now understanding why his companion seemed so moody for the most part of their journey together. "Why did you not tell me of this at least; if not anything of the works of the Civilization?"_

_"Why would I do that? It's not like you tell me what happens to your body."_

_"You were always angry," he accused, "You are _still_ angry."_

_"It's called '_sexual frustration'_, you jerk," and she walked away into the manor, "And I am _not_ angry. I'm excited, amazed, hungry, passionate—anything but angry." He pulled her by her coat sleeve, but she successfully slipped out of it to escape to their room, cackling on her way up the stairs. "You'll never capture me alive, assassin!" Connor's lip curled up with an anger rising within him. Every time he would worry for her, she would brush it off as child's play. She should be grateful that he's concerned for her safety. He would wonder sometimes if she was aware of how her poke of fun would wound him. When he entered the manor as well, he found the door at the end of the corridor open, leading to the open forest. His eyes concentrated to an Eagle Vision to find the golden target fleeing further in. A devilish gleam sparked in his eyes as he treaded close behind in minutes. _

_…_

_The novice looked about the open forest she remembered so much; her feet taking her here out of all places. It made her wonder how long ago that was for them to do something so daring in the middle of the wilderness. Such an act made her feel rebellious. It was an act that she found both pain and—oh. Her ear flickered as she heard rustling of the bushes close behind. She turned on her heel, finding nothing. There didn't seem to be anyone there, but she knew better. However, she took a peek into the trees a second too late. A strong massive figure came down on her, pressing her against the evergreen blades of grass beneath her. The wind was immediately knocked out of her lungs, her hands on either side of her face. The novice blinked a few times to get her vision going again only to find a satisfied assassin hovering over her. When she tried to wiggle out of his hold, she realized that he had her in a straddle._

_"Getting' real tired of your shit, Connor…" she muttered. He didn't seem too pleased with her actions either. To challenge him in a chase was suicidal and they both knew that. His beloved only laughed at his serious expression. It was as if he was really hunting._

_"It was not wise to run," he growled and Tsipporah lowered her laugh into a giggle. Suppose she didn't find him that threatening. It displeased him to no end. "I do not find any of this comical, Tsipporah."_

_"Neither do I, but I think you expect me to be scared of you."_

"…Do you...?"_ his voice lowered at the thought. Was she ever afraid of him once? If so, then she had every right to be. He's killed many men from day to day. In fact, the novice couldn't recall a day where he didn't kill a living creature or human—not that it bothered her—or so he would like to believe. His wife instantly stopped all hilarity right then and there as her husband seemed genuinely concerned of something. He never seemed afraid to kill men, but…_

_"Did you think I would never be with you because you kill?" she whispered as Connor took his weight off her body to stand over her instead. His expression made her scoff. She'd rather him acting cocky about it than acting all vulnerable. "Really, dude? _Really?_ Sadly, it would take more than a thousand-plus kills to make me even think about hurting you."_

_"And if I hurt you?"_

_"You won't hurt me..." she looked to the side, remembering something, "Okay, except that time when we were younger and you broke my nose and I socked you in the balls, but no. No, I don't think you would do that."_

_Still, it did not lift any weight off of his chest for he was capable of doing something just as worse. As much as he wanted to spend the rest of his days with her and the people of Homestead, Connor knew that his time as an assassin was far from over. There were more dangers to face, this community would be safe for now, and he would have more men to decapitate. Inevitably, she would be by his side for her loyalty to him was undying, even when her time as an observer has ended. _

_"Connor…" Tsipporah kicked the grass as she was on her back, getting the assassin's attention, _"Kissy, kissy!"_ she extended her arms to him to come down on her again, whining childishly. He face-palmed at how relaxed she seemed despite his worries; the novice could care less how he perceived her. "Please, babe. It's been a while. You've been working a lot."_

_"I warned you that I wouldn't give you enough time as a husband," he knelt back down, caressing her face, "You deserve one that will."_

_"I don't wanna marry someone who always has time for me when I'm already married to coolest guy in America!" He blushed at this. Again, despite their relationship, she would refer to him as someone of high regard. In his daze, he snapped out of it as soon as he felt a soft texture brush against his lips, causing him to stir in wanting. Aware of whose lips pressed against him, he deepened it fiercely. Suddenly, the novice immediately parted from him. "Uh, Connor…" _

_She pointed behind and he huffed in annoyance. There were low growls surrounding them. Wolves circled the two, ready to attack. The young man shook his head, wishing that he and his wife would be left alone at that moment, but it couldn't be helped. He brandished his knife in hand as he came to his feet._

_"Hold that thought," he twirled the knife in his hand._

_"Roger that," Tsipporah followed suit, pulling a club from her side._

* * *

Morning had struck, but the sky was still in the grey of violence. The Mohawk warrior slept in uneasiness with his only solace being the memories of the world he once knew. His friends had greeted him every time he came their way, the children addressing him as 'master' cheerfully, his close allies nodding their heads to await orders, and his wife smiling brightly as his children ran up to him as if they have not seen him in years. Ever since he dropped into this hell-hole, he wondered if he would ever return to the place he truly called his home again, yet this place also seemed just as real. What's worse was that his flesh and blood was at the mercy of this apocalyptic world. He would never admit to it, but the thought of losing them here would truly be a nightmare to behold. Seeing his own kinsmen die at the hands of the colonists convinced him enough to take down the man that was once his ally—George Washington. Unconsciously, his body trembled with a shaky breath as if his imagination fixated on something horrifying. Times like this, his wife would rouse him from his sleep before he would get cold sweats.

Tsipporah couldn't see him well enough from the cell she was in, but as she lay there, she vividly felt his agony. It puzzled her as to why she could, but she did. A piteous desire to wake him slowly shook her nerves. Carefully, she rose from her rugged mattress to at least see his cell. Once she approached the bars of her own, she heard the incessant muttering of a guard nearby. The man in the cell across from hers also caught her eye. She gasped softly, realizing who it was, but this native would not raise his head to meet anyone's eyes. Suddenly, the door at the end of the hall flew open to reveal three figures walking in with authority. Her eyes widened and her face lost color to see who it was; or rather, her blood grew cold with bloodlust (she wasn't too certain). They made their way to the native cell, which Putnam referred to as 'a special gift'. The novice looked their way, curious to see what they meant. Then a familiar native man was roused from his sleep to come to the cell's bars. The novice didn't know whether to be happy, angry, jump off the ceiling—she still hadn't processed which one, but to see her beloved's face again brought her to tears. Although, it made her uneasy that Washington and Putnam mentioned that he was shot point blank and survived, only to promise the beheading of him and see how he survives that.

Benjamin Franklin was with them also, claiming to have caught a native in league with Samuel Adams. Hearing Adams' names brought about some mixed feelings. Just what exactly was going on here? There was only one way to figure that out. The men turned to leave, but then Putnam stopped in front of her cell and called her out in the most offensive name she's ever heard. Something she's never heard since middle-school, really.

"Another gift, your eminence," he gestured like she was a prize, "The woman capable of ripping a man's heart out in one take. The woman—along with that Mohawk woman—who tried to take your power away from you."

"Astonishing…" he gazed upon her with maddened eyes, "However, she is nothing without her weapons. Fortunately, I have them back at the palace on display. Don't even bother, savage. It is protected very closely and you're not going anywhere. Hmph…but your head will be somewhere—say, high on a pike." He laughed in a sinister form. The novice only furrowed her brows in defiance, unafraid of his words—something that rubbed off from her husband.

"_Right_…" she started, "As if death will scare the fuck out of me early this morning. Wake me up when you got something like Ju-on coming out of yo' ass." She fixed the pillow that was on her bed and went back to lie down. Putnam yelled fiercely at her, but Washington gestured that it was no big deal. She would be put to death anyway. Let's see her have a big attitude then. The three men left, but not without Washington addressing to Putnam that Franklin's gone soft and might reinstate his position. The novice sat there to analyze the situation until they were out of sight. She would say something, but the guard was still there. Maybe once her cell door was opened by the guards, she would make for an escape—an abrupt banging on iron made her body jump off the mattress and into the dirty brick and stone. Apparently, she wasn't the only one who was disturbed. There were small grunts as if made by mere children. Their voices sounded familiar. The next thing she heard was the guard getting all frantic, saying that the prisoner disappeared. _Oh, boy_. The novice moved towards the bars again and couldn't believe what she was seeing. As a couple more guards poured in, they were strangled by the very air only to be shoved into the back cell and locked up. The guard's keys were taken to be used on the other cells. Once the doors opened, two young faces smiled deviously as they exited. The woman's heart swelled.

"Moses…Blythe..." she grasped the bars and they took a gaze at her only to drop it immediately. It didn't sit well with her at all. Before she could retort some tough love, a full figure appeared before her and she leapt back with her hands at the level of her eyes. Her guard was dropped when she saw who it was. As her cell door opened, she stepped out slowly in front of him.

"You…" she looked at him up and down, noticing that his assassin's attire wasn't on, "What the fuck are you wearing?"

"Now's not the time, Tsipporah. We cannot stay here."

"Okay, but I don't even know where 'here' is." He combed his hand through his hair, just about had enough of this woman's whining. "And seriously, when did you get this Mohawk warrior outfit, Connor? I have to admit it's kind of sexy." She grinned wickedly as the two siblings looked at each other in confusion. Only their mother would refer him as such. The native turned on her again to lecture her, but realized what she said…how she spoke…what she called him.

"Tsipporah…" he spoke softly, "You remember—me, our children, everything?"

"What? Are you touched in the head? Of course I remember everything. I also recall that those little assholes looked away like I was the enemy!" she pointed to her children, "Look away when I'm calling you by name and I'm gonna whup some ass! Now get over here and show your momma some love!" The two young ones looked at each other and to their mother happily. It was her again. Blythe and Moses wrapped their small arms around her waist, but it was her husband was the one who was filled with hope that very moment. Too bad she couldn't really assess the situation. Did she miss something? She turned to her husband who gently had her shoulder.

"Um…I really missed something, huh?" she scratched her head, "I don't think I've ever seen you look so relieved before." She darted her eyes around the room and started to recall where they were. "Why are we in jail, babe? And why are the kids here, too? Did you piss off the cops again?"

"Hey!" a voice from the cell behind them called out, "Get me out of here!"

"That voice…" the novice heaved her daughter onto her back in a piggy-back as Ratonhnhaké:ton went over to the cell to find yet another familiar face. Again, hope grew in him that another close friend was still here as his mother was.

"Kanen'tó:kon! Alive?" he gasped, "…Oh, my friend. I cannot believe you are here!" The novice froze in place as she saw that it was indeed their best friend…still alive. Still alive? Impossible! They saw him die just outside of Connor's village. She pinched her nose as the two spoke some things that puzzled her even more. Blythe gripped her arms around her mother even more, trembling. Suppose there were some recollection of thoughts that flew past. She barely remembered how she got here.

"They say you've been killed along with your mother."

"The Clan Mother brought me back to health—"

"Momma, too!" Blythe argued, kicking her feet. It didn't lighten up the fact that everything was burned to the ground, however.

"Kanen'tó:kon, I was unable to protect my mother. I was unable to save the village." Yep, she gave up. Nothing was making sense. The novice dropped her child from her back. The other explained that troubled times have reached him as well. He was now fighting alongside Samuel Adams' rebels, but the rescue of slaves ended with him getting captured. Moses took this time to survey the area as they spoke, finding a key on the desk that had a triangle etched on it. He walked back to his father, handing him the key.

"Thank you, son," his father gladly took it to free Kanen'tó:kon and Moses gave a boyish smile—a habit of his every time his father praised him for something.

"Washington is enslaving the people and looting everything. He ships the slaves and treasure to New York to build his palace. We must leave this place. Get what you need, and then we'll go." The native somewhat recalled that the alternate-Tsipporah mentioned that there was something that belonged to her that was here. However, she didn't seem to know what has happened so far. She followed the men out with her children with caution. As it seemed, not all of the assassin's things were here; just his bow and quiver filled with arrows. Yeah, his hidden blades were missing. Treading further into the next room, the novice saw that it was not a prison, but a warehouse. It offended her immensely. They were moved around like cargo? How racist could the 18th century get—pfft…never mind. There were guards talking ahead, so they hid behind the columns of crates.

"Tsipporah. You said that you needed something here."

"That's nice babe, I'm not sure what I lost in here. Maybe I interfered at the wrong time. And what's this nonsense about you not being able to save your mother and your village? Your mother died when you were young—you told me this. And the villagers were forced out by the new government—"

"They 're dead, Tsipporah. All of them. Clan Mother, the warriors, and the village burned to ground. There's nothing left." Her eyes widened.

"I don't understand…" she choked thickly, "Why is this happening? How is this happening?"

"Enough," he hissed at her, "We must focus on escaping this place. You and our children are in grave danger. If Washington finds you, then you will suffer a fate worse than death." This was getting better and better. "Wait here. I will take out the guards."

"Need some help breaking some necks, dear?" he gave her a look before going out and disappearing much to her surprise. "…Holy shit." She could not say more as her beloved moved about swiftly, killing men left and right under the cloak of the wolves. It was amazing to see him move the way he did, but his daughter hated it so. It was just as the warriors moved after they drank the tea. She feared that his sanity would be ripped apart long before they reach Washington. It made her heart sink in. Her mother noticed this, but had to stay quiet lest they would be found by curious eyes. Once Ratonhnhaké:ton finished the guards in this room, but could have sworn he heard something most curious:

_"…The owner put up one hell of a fight."_

_"The old, black geezer with the cane?"_

_"That's the fella!"_

Retrieving his things, he took down the two remaining and made his way back to his allies. Before making his way completely, he saw a heavily nailed crate labeled with many warnings. The guards before did mention that they had a strange looking weapon in the room as well. Maybe it was the same item the woman spoke of. He punched off the padlock and forced it open by hand, ripping off the top as if it was mere paper. Inside was a…actually, he wasn't sure what the hell it was. A sing-song hum sounded next to him and he frowned deeply.

"Did I not tell you to hide?"

"I heard you kill them all," Tsipporah never took her eyes off the unique instrument, "Besides, I think this is what the 'other me' was probably talking about. Kind of suitable, really." She took it into her hands and spread her legs apart to balance herself since the instrument was heavier than it looked. Cranking the handle, it started to whir. The others came up, seeing what it was.

"Tsipporah…" Ratonhnhaké:ton backed away as if she was holding an uncanny alien, "What is that?"

"Oh, this," she held it up in his direction and he backed away further, causing her to laugh, "Calm down, it's just a bone chainsaw. Or what doctors here use to aid in childbirth. Remember when Dr. White said I might have problems with the pregnancy and little Moses almost didn't crown—"

"He was going to use that on you?" he shook his head, dismissing the whole thing, "Forget it, we must leave. If it has use to us, then I suppose you can keep it." He made his way around her and she cranked it enough to whir obnoxiously, scaring the daylights out of him. Despite the danger, she would still find a way to amuse herself; looks like his wife was truly back. He then took his time to strap on his hidden blade and other weapons. His beloved bit her lip back when she saw him also put a wolf hood over his face. He stopped all motion when he saw her giving him a bemused smile.

"What is it now?"

"Crazy generals, mad Washington, everyone enslaved, natives dying, you're wearing this get—I think I've finally gone mad, babe."

"Believe me, you are not the one who is going mad."

"What is that?" Ratonhnhaké:ton turned to his friend who picked up a vial of his, but also pointed to the people he was with; "And who are they?"

Tsipporah gave a look of disbelief. Of course, her children were born long after he 'died', but to forget who she was…? They've seen each other countless times in the past! Yet her husband acted indifferent as if it was no surprise. This place was beginning to scare her. She wasn't sure how much it really would, though. The Mohawk warrior sighed as he explained.

"This is my wife and children," then pointed to the vial, "And this is tea from the Great Willow."

"Say what?" the novice sassed.

"Ah!" Kanen'tó:kon exclaimed, "That is how you can move as you do. You went on a Sky Journey."

"Hold the fuck up! This is the reason you can turn invisible?" Tsipporah demanded answers, "I don't like the way it smells…"

"It was necessary," he retorted.

"'Necessary'?"

"Yes." They eventually got into each other's faces, glaring at each other as the novice was tempted to test out her bone saw. The children backed away, knowing not to get involved in their quarrels, but it was cut short when Ratonhnhaké:ton caught sight of his comrade attempting to drink the perilous tea.

"What are you doing?"

"If we want to defeat Washington, I will need the strength from the animal spirits."

"No!" he argued, "I defied my mother to go on that journey. It is too dangerous." For a moment, his friend didn't seem to listen as they had no choice. Washington's army continues to advance, to enslave, and to rid the country of its liberties. This couldn't continue. "But you're risking yourself for nothing! Even with the wolf, I was taken captive."

"You don't know anything, "Kanen'tó:kon said, "Every journey holds the chance of meeting a new spirit animal."

"Wait! Every journey holds the chance of losing yourself, I understand the risks. I will take the journey." His comrade gave it some thought and finally handed the vial back. The novice didn't like the way the tea smelled—not for its contents, but for what it vividly reminded her of. It made her curious of what is truly in it. The young ones didn't want to hold back on their side of the argument either. Blythe knew exactly what the risks would be, but Moses knew much more than what he wanted to know. The daughter kept to herself on this one.

"Are you certain you want to be doing this father?" Moses tugged his father's toned arm, "There are other ways—"

"I must do this." Nothing seemed to change his mind even when the novice deeply wanted to knock the drink from his hands. She looked away as he consumed some more of the tea until she heard nothing but silence…and then him collapsing to the ground. Her head snapped back in his direction to fall on his body. She knew that tea was too good to be true. The vial was grasped by her hands and smelled closer. It didn't smell like poison. It was familiar, but not poison. Tsipporah quickly brought her husband upon her lap to look at his face. Nope. He wasn't dead. Actually, he looked a bit shut down like he was overdosed.

"I'm never talking to papa ever again…" Blythe decided. Her mother shook her head.

"Blythe, I don't think you understand what kind of man your father is yet."

"Momma," she knelt beside her, "I do not think I know who or what he is anymore. These past months have been very confusing. I've never seen so many natives before in my life. I never thought I would see this side of my family before."

"His side is more civilized than mine, trust me," she warned comically.

"We cannot stay here, miss…" Kanen'tó:kon gestured.

"Tsipporah," she nodded, "It might take a while for reinforcements to come, but I'm not leaving here without him. Then again…" she looked down at Connor's calm face, "He never thanks me for trying to help him. Maybe I should crank that bone saw and leave him in the room with it—"

The doors flew open and in came some reinforcements. Bluecoats with muskets in hand immediately swung at them. The children backed away enough to get out of range, but the novice acted indifferently. She thought the Patriots were allies. Then again, they stopped being allies the moment they had turned on the natives. Even now, they were turning on them once more. As the blade of the bayonet came to her face, she caught it in her jaws and cranked the bone saw enough to have it sever the firearm easily. While the bluecoat was in shock of what became of his weapon, Kanen'tó:kon took the opportunity to sneak behind and slit his throat and go for the others.

"Ratonhnhaké:ton will be fine. Protect your children." Tsipporah nodded, leaping over some crates to reach her young ones who were fending off soldiers the best they could. Moses had no trouble defending his sister, but had a better chance hiding in the shadows whereas Blythe took the sharpest thing she could find to impale a bluecoat in the chest, crying out in defiance. Another bluecoat came for them without their notice. Nearly taking them by surprise, he paused in shock. A heavy stroke of pain searing through his pain and kept going; the children gasped as they saw cranking metal come out from his abdomen. The novice turned him to the side, kicking off his cold body to the ground as his blood covered her bone saw. They froze in place until she spoke.

"You two okay?" they sheepishly said yes; "Kanen'tó:kon, is my husband still sleeping like a rock?" The native wiped his forehead; sadly he was still taking the Sky journey. He stopped his movements as he heard more footsteps from the far side from the other room ahead. Hastily, he shut the doors as the next wave of bluecoats marched steadfastly towards them. Tsipporah leapt over quickly to aid him. It was proven difficult. Their enemy was stubborn, stabbing the door as much as they tried to shove it open. Her hand was nearly stabbed in when they continued this task. As they both kept the door back, the novice noticed something strapped onto the corpse of a bluecoat.

"Kanen'tó:kon! Your knife!" she tossed it over and heard some grunting from the floor. The native man roused his comrade to awaken.

"Ratonhnhaké:ton! Bluecoats! They've sounded the alarm!" he pressed against the door even more, "Did you see a spirit? Are you alright?"

"I've never felt better," he steadily got to his feet, coughing.

"Well, whoop-die-fucking-do, man!" Tsipporah complained, "Take your time 'cause, you know, we have all day. Kids, push those crates over here! We need more weight!" The young ones obeyed, getting to work on blockading the door. The novice was more concerned with the look on her husband's face, however. She knew that look anywhere as if he had another radical idea. He dashed up the wall to climb up. "Whoa, whoa, whoa—where do you think you're going?"

"I must clear a path," he waved his hand, "Stay here. Make sure nothing happens to the children. Kanen'tó:kon, do not move! " She didn't bother answering while she made a stone face. Her kids didn't want to even ask. The other native man found their…_relationship_ a bit amusing, smiling to himself. In an instant, they heard the dying screams of men on the other side along with the struggle on the door ceasing. The novice creased her brows, wondering what the hell was going on the other side anyway.

"You guys stay here…" she jumped onto the tallest column of crates there was, presently.

"Mother, father said for us to stay down here."

"I am staying down here," she countered, "I'm just taking in the view from here, too." She was rather surprised at what she found, too. Whatever the tea had, he was moving ten-times faster than normal. He jumped from one place to the other as if he was lightening himself. It was rather a very shocking view. What she could make out, though, was the faint eagle cries that erupted from him before he took off at a great distance to hone on his opponents. Some concern sank in as well—like what exactly are the consequences of drinking this tea?

Once the Mohawk warrior finished his sweep of enemies, he turned back to take a great leap over the wall, taking his children by surprise.

"We must make haste," he warned, "before more bluecoats arrive."

"Babe, what the hell did you do back there?" the novice called out from the top of the crates, climbing down.

"I cannot explain now. Right now we—"

**"They're crazed savages! Kill them, or Washington will have our heads!"**

The group flinched at the sudden intrusion and scattered behind the storage boxes once more. The longer they stayed, the more likely they are to be cornered. It was too risky to stay in and out, but better free to roam than trapped in a closed space. Ratonhnhaké:ton knew full well that his new family shouldn't be exposed to this much danger, but it was beyond his control. However, there had to be something.

"Tsipporah," he took her hand in his, "Take the children and get outside as I clear the path for you. I cannot have them fall to danger like this. I am certain that you will keep them safe." She looked into his eyes as if he was crazy; the same look she would show whenever he had some radical plan while on a mission. Ratonhnhaké:ton knew she would say something to talk him out of it at this point. "There is no time! You must go. _Now_."

Relaxing her face and inhaling sharply, she scooped the young ones' into her arms as the bluecoats readied their fire. Taking a fallen firearm in hand, Kanen'tó:kon shot down one, ruining their formation. The three kept going down the hall until they spotted Benjamin Franklin running away. Tsipporah gasped at the sight of him. The last time she saw him was when he was selling pamphlets at a general store and boasting about the Declaration of Independence when the war ended. Now he was their enemy? This was all starting to hurt her head. She took a moment as they were finally outside, clutching at how her head was pounding like a nail. Blythe worried.

"Momma?" she held her mother's face, "Are you alright? You feel cold."

"Momma's feeling a little sick…but we need to keep going. Your father said so." She weakly took both their hands and pressed forward, but her daughter barely moved as did the other. Their stubbornness they inherited started to become a bother. "Come on, or do you want to die?"

"Mother…" Moses pointed to her scalp, "You're bleeding." She gasped, feeling at her forehead. Just as she was told, blood was gushing from her head in a crazed motion. The warm liquid streaked itself down her face like light rain on window panes. As she clutched her temples, she saw that her hair flowing around her paled into white with her blood soaking some strands. Eventually she got to her knees.

"Mother!"

"Momma!"

"Gah…ha…what the fuck is happening to me?!" the bleeding didn't seem to stop, "What're still doing here? The bluecoats will come—"

"Papa said that we're leaving together!" Blythe wrapped her arms around her. Together…no, that's right. She promised that they'll live as long as they can. She didn't want them to suffer the same fate Connor had suffered when he was young—to lose a parent. The novice raised her head the best she could, but then caught sight of something that caused her to throw Blythe behind her. Before them was Benjamin Franklin with a firearm in hand, pointed directly at them.

"You have been quite an inconvenience, Demon-girl," he cocked his gun.

This was all confusing, but…"Kids…if you see your father, tell that bastard that I love him." She waited for the musket ball to stop her heart from its beating or at least her head so that the pain would cease to throb. So she waited. It was disappointing how this life had turned out. One day, both her and the assassin kept their daily business lives in order to raise their children once they had them. Unconsciously, a smile painted her face at the memory of them waiting for parenthood to happen and how scared and excited Connor was to be a father. It hurt more that he would be left alone to do it now…

Nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing came after that. She was down on her knees, propped up without fear and nothing came after. No musket ball, no fire—her eyes opened.

"So you would die that easily?" Ratonhnhaké:ton whipped the blood off his hidden blade, but Franklin scrambled to his feet to run away. "I will not let him get away. Tsipporah, regroup with Kanen'tó:kon. I am certain that he will catch up soon…" his words trailed off as he saw the blood seeping from her scalp and her hair whitening. She only gave a cocky smile.

"You better get Franklin before he gets away." He immediately took her by the shoulders.

"What happened?" he hissed, wanting to kill whoever did this to her.

"Forget it!" she whined, "Just get him…" Ratonhnhaké:ton gathered all his strength to not go against her wish. It was something he was set out to do in the first place, but even this task was seemingly causing some discord. Arnold said to free Franklin once he reached Boston. Now Franklin stood as an enemy. He brandished his tomahawk; his back facing his partner.

"Stay alive," he ordered as he took off after Franklin, who made it to the rooftops somehow. Pursuing him was no difficult task for his new animal spirit allowed him to speed up in his high jumps. Afar, one could see him catch his target quite easily. There was no contest. Tsipporah chuckled as she spat blood, confused as to where this was coming from. She did not get hit in battle nor did the men manage a hit on her. Her son peeked at her puzzled face.

"Mother, there is something I must show father," he said, "It will make sense of things. It is a danger to stay in this world."

"What?" Blythe gasped.

"A world?" the mother didn't like the sound of that; neither did she like the sound of oncoming bluecoats heading their way. Running on low energy, she readied the bone saw in her hand, cranking it efficiently for use as the men of pale-faces ran their way with curses upon their lips…

…

_"Escape! Escape the best you can!"_

_"Why did you disobey me my son?!"_

_"Your mother cannot help you now!"_

_"I wanted to protect you!"_

_"You failed to save your village! You failed to save your mother!"_

_"Never again, Ratonhnhaké:ton!"_

_"It's all falling away, falling away, falling away, falling away falling away fallingaway fallingawayfallingawayfallingawayfallingawayfallin gawayfallingaway_

_00101000101101000001010010100010010001010010111110 00100001110100000_

_0010010010010000101001001011…"_

* * *

**I hope those of you who are true AC fans recognize that number pattern. It'll blow your mind. ;D**

**Yeah, so Tsippy's back, but for how long? Looks like her consciousness in this world is a bit unstable. Might pose as a big problem as much as Connor losing his sanity. Other than that, Kanen's back! And we'll meet Sam Adams next as well as the peeps from the Aquila! I know the Redemption chapter is closing in. Can't wait to see the bear-ability. Things might get dangerous and interesting. Sorry for the long wait, guys. I had errands to run since I'm almost off of school-break, but the next chapter is coming soon. Don't freak out.**

**See you guys in the next chapter! :3**


	7. Sequence 07: Tea Party

_"One person's craziness is another person's reality."_  
**Tim Burton**

* * *

The Mohawk warrior fainted in the perspective of his allies. His beloved, his children, and his closest friend took him aside from the alleyway where they found him to rest somewhere where the bluecoats were not occupying. The open area was only temporary for this is where the rebels would be out in the open before enemies would appear. Three more natives brought back filtered water as well as the severed heads of Washington's men. This startled the children at first as if they've never seen bloodied heads. The three native men all had similar faces, checking in for the status of their situation. They all suddenly came towards Kanen'tó:kon in a dash to embrace him.

"(Father, you are well!)" They rambled on as the others stared a bit stupefied. Kanen'tó:kon quickly backed out of their hold to shush them.

"We cannot draw attention to ourselves, my sons," he looked to his comrades, "Is Adams on his way?"

"Yes," one said.

"However, we cannot find mother here," the second replied, "She must be in New York, I fear."

"But father, who are they?" the third one asked just as Ratonhnhaké:ton woke. The novice gasped as she knelt herself by his side. Her children did the same as he sat up, clutching his head. It was complete pandemonium as he recalled. He finally got his hands on Benjamin Franklin, but then the man started spewing nonsense as if he was under some sort of hypnotism. Suddenly, Washington appeared and images of his mother as well. He wasn't too sure if his mind was creating these images, Washington was toying with his mind or…he wasn't exactly what happened. He couldn't even put it into words when his allies asked. Blythe wrinkled her face, wondering if his sanity was finally deteriorating.

As his vision finally settled, he saw three familiar young men looking at him innocently. The Mohawk raised a brow. They certainly looked familiar. The novice rolled her eyes as he jerked his head, puzzled.

"Dude, even I figured it out," she threw her hands in the air, "It's _Karontara:ken_, _Onerahtase'ko:wa_, and _Ken'tarakonha:ka_—Kateri's boys." He wished she didn't say their names so nonchalantly for this world were different. It seemed that none of their allies remembered them. His people even questioned who his wife was at some point and did not know that he was even married. He shook her shoulder to cease her banter.

"What? At least I remembered their names."

"And you are…?" one of them asked.

"She is my wife," he answered for her and she pouted, "and these are my children. Kanen'tó:kon, what happened?"

"We escaped, my friend. Your woman was bleeding heavily while you went after Franklin. It was then that my sons appeared and we found you in the alleyway. Tell me: did you kill him?"

"I had him…I had Franklin! Then Washington…I do not know." The entire scene was a bit boggling to recall. It was hard to make sense of it. Moses could see that nothing was making sense to his father anymore simply because it won't. If he's learned anything from his mother, it was that some dimensions are more dangerous than others. It was here that it would drive his father mad—and as it seemed—things were to befall his mother as well. However the case, they could not stay out in the open like this. Tsipporah and Kanen'tó:kon brought the Mohawk to his feet as another man approached them.

"Young man, do you need a doctor?" the novice froze, recalling that when she was young, she faintly heard this voice when her consciousness was barely held up when she lost a lot of blood during the Incident on King's Street. Ratonhnhaké:ton softly gasped.

"Samuel Adams!"

"Ah! Do I know you?" his question brought about some memories that this man he respected during his training days probably didn't retain.

"I…I know of you, sir." The novice sniggered at how he still called him 'sir'. Those were the days. Adams explained that times were hard and even now the rebels are starting to be pushed back. Every day was a struggle. However, it was not safe to speak out in the open like this—they all had to go someplace private. Ratonhnhaké:ton himself would know, now that after seeing a bit more of Washington's strength does he figure why men fear him and are paranoid of him. The group quickly receded to an abandoned warehouse area where there were both British and battered Americans as well. Tsipporah never thought she would see such a sight. Suppose under such circumstances the British would side with the Patriots.

…

The children took their time to settle in the safe-house the rebels settled into. Blythe wasn't too impressed with it, though, for it was too small to be considered a base. She took off her shoes very boyishly, rubbing her blistered feet as if it were mere mosquito bites. She barely lifted her eyes as her father spoke to the other rebels. There was no need to speak to him. Like the other warriors, he would eventually become a monster or worse. The anxiety of the thought set her on edge. Her brother knelt beside her, peering at her wrinkled face.

"You are mad at father," he concluded and she glared at him in response.

"What's it to you?" she spat.

"I do not think you realize father and mother take up on dangerous tasks so that we can live another day, Blythe—especially father. Mother told me that when he set out to defeat a man of dark hair and pale skin—a man named Charles Lee—he would not take her with him, even though they have been many places and killed many men. On personal excursions, he would not take her with him."

"Yet he takes me hunting," she argued, "I do not understand why he would rather have me hide than to help him. Even now, he drinks a vile drink that takes a piece of him with every drop. It is not bravery, Moses, it's piteous." Her brother cocked a brow at her words. Since when do we pity soldiers? Soldiers would think of anything but pity. He fixed himself so that his legs were crossed, folding his hands.

"Father has killed many men so that the people of the colonies would be free, he has killed a dangerous group of men so that mother and his people would remain safe, and even now, he kills men and saved us from becoming Washington's instruments of destruction—going so far as to gaining power that will drive him mad. He knows this, but as long as we are safe, he is satisfied. I think he deserves more than your pity, dear sister."

Blythe only sucked her teeth as her brother spoke to her; trying to reason with her more or less. Nothing would convince her otherwise. Her father had already done so many dangerous things even before she was born. Of course she appreciated all that he had done, but to lose him in any of it would cause her a great sorrow. Moses didn't seem to mind it at all. It must be a guy thing for he never once complained of his father doing anything dangerous. Her mother was quite different. She would not tell him to no go unless she sensed a bad omen within the given situation like she did now. As the men spoke around the table, she kept fiddling with her thumbs. Back and forth, the men would say how staying in this area would be a danger to them all and the only solution would be to track down Benjamin Franklin. That's when Sam Adams inquired of Ratonhnhaké:ton's assistance that was quickly given as soon as Franklin was called by name. Samuel proposed that in order to gain information, the native warrior must venture to the tavern where the guards would settle for drinks. It would be dangerous, but they would have some information at least. Ratonhnhaké:ton nodded to this and went on his way. The novice took her primitive bone-saw, following behind.

"Be good, kids," she said as she looked over her shoulder, but was stopped by her beloved. At first, she made a soft grunt, knowing what this would be.

"I think it would be safer for you to stay here and watch the children," Ratonhnhaké:ton proposed.

"You're talking to the woman who rip out the hearts of men and sank ships using your blood," she sputtered, "You worry about the wrong people, bro."

"I am not your 'bro'—I am your husband. And there are many bluecoats about the streets. I do not want you to be mixed up in unnecessary fighting. Washington, especially, is out for your blood—your power to be precise, as well as the children."

"Huh..." was all that she could muster, "You drinking weird tea, Washington's evil, people who should be dead are alive... this place sort of sounds like_ Alice in Wonderland_ a little. I just hope that tea isn't as dangerous as Blythe claims it to be."

"I suppose she has been worrying you," he chuckled, "Stay here."

As he left through the doors, she sneered, leaning on her weapon like a cane. The little one didn't want this. She bit her lip, thinking her father might get into trouble for drinking the tea this much. The worst possible scenario could take form if her mother were to listen to him so obediently like this, allowing him to injure his mind obliviously. Blythe picked herself off of the ground and went to her mother's side. Moses wrinkled his nose, already knowing what she was up to.

"Mother..." she muttered, pulling her mother's sleeve.

"What's up?" she acknowledged her call, "What's wrong, babe?"

"Papa cannot drink anymore of that drink; it'll drive him mad. Grandmother Ziio said so."

"Blythe..."

"Please, go after him, mother—_please_..."

* * *

The streets of Boston were nothing but broken spirits and starving civilians along with the constant patrol of bluecoats at every corner. It took some serious stealth to avoid most of them. They were alert, paranoid of who may stir up some trouble. upon closer inspection, one could see the fatigue written on their faces, but would protest against closing them to rest due to constant insecurities. The men were afraid of their own sovereign, no doubt. The Mohawk was only glad that his partner was not here to look about with him. The layout of the land was a mess. It was still a mystery as to why and how this came to be. He took in a breath of relief that his wife finally came to. _Tsipporah_... She was always to difficult to put up with, but only so that he would be on the right path. If that were the case, then he should not regret the past. However, with their misadventures in mind, he was constantly reminded of why he wasn't so fond of her until the Boston Massacre. He just so happened to pass on the very street where his perspective of her was altered dramatically. It was here, by a hay-bale that elite soldiers of the British had him nearly killed... and she saved him. He was grateful to be sure, but the look in her eyes that day were—for once—readable with concern and resolution. For once, he was face to face with a kindred spirit. He knew for that was the expression he wore when he tried to save his mother. It only drove him to train even harder.

...

_Connor took his observer away from the eyes of the public, sneaking away to the State House to find Achilles. When he finally had the location in his sights, he saw no carriage present; not even the old man either. And the entire way, he pleaded with his comrade to stay awake for they will get home soon. It would not happen. They backed their way into the shadows of the alley, feeling a sense of abandonment in this dire situation. Could it be that his partner would die here without the proper aid? No... he had to help her somehow. The Goth kept moaning in pain, wrinkling her brows and sucking her teeth at an unnerving volume as she was placed against the wall, sitting up. The young native ripped his sleeve quickly to wrap it around her injured leg. It was such misfortune that she decided to wear her... 'jeans' today. He went into the hole of the ripped fabric was to get to the severed flesh, ripping open the pants' sleeve easily like paper. Tsipporah gasped softly, feeling the cold air hit into her open wound and started whining._

"What are you doing? You have to hide..."

_"I will not leave you here to bleed to death," he applied some pressure to her leg to stop the stubborn bleeding. Her actions were rather reckless. "Why did throw yourself before me? Why did you protect me...?" The Goth's eyes fluttered as he spoke. She probably was not in the right mind to speak at all. She seemed to be blacking out badly. Her chest rose and fell a tad too hastily as if she were to pass out from the blood loss. Connor took her by the shoulders. "Answer me, damn you!" he hissed._

"God..."_ she muttered, _"Heroes don't die this early in the game... I just bought you some time. Besides, you have people waiting for you to come home—friends and family that's waiting for you."_ She coughed halfway, exhausted. _"I don't have any real friends like you do. I'm not even that close to my family... and people need you—they don't need me..."

_"Do not say that, Tsipporah. You are needed."_

"Why?"_ her eyes started to tear up, _"You always have to protect me!"

_"And you have protected me," he countered, "I will not let you die so easily from a scratch like this."_

"Then I've served my purpose—"

_"No you have not," he answered smartly as his eyes bore into hers, "The Brotherhood may never find any use in you, but I need you."_

_The Goth felt frozen in her spot as a strange heat rose in her chest. Never in her life did anyone ever told her that she was needed, especially from someone who wouldn't let just anyone touch him. She resisted the urge to cry or at least tried. Her mind felt fuzzy, so she thought that this conversation wouldn't even compute into her memory. He kept telling her to stay awake, but she'd rather sleep than let him see her cry. She had to obey him; she vowed to, yet her heart started to sink in more and more. No one's ever told her that they needed her. She could understand him, but her? Connor saw the confusion in her eyes as well as the tears that brewed. His partner seemed different now, more vulnerable. It somehow made him want to embrace her—to take her in his arms strongly and reassure her that they will make it out alive. This he would do. He would not let her efforts be in vain. His partner chuckled softly, weakly punching his arm._

"Thanks, but..."_ she paused, _"I don't think my head's so straight that I'll remember any of this conversation even if I do live through this, tree-hugger. I doubt it, though. I'm blacking out..."

_"No," he took her in his arms in a bridal style, "We will both get home alive."_

_He quickly got to his feet, taking the alleyway's routes to escape the eyes of the English soldiers. As he weaved through the shadows, a spark of anger rose in his chest that the old man may have abandoned them both to escape the chaos the Templars had started. His friend's injury only made it all the more dire, but also pushed him more to fleeing and returning home more quickly. It was difficult, though, for there were soldiers everywhere. Not to mention the cautious civilians at this hour, scarred by the sudden massacre. The Goth softly breathed onto his neck as he held her, her eyes fluttering._

"I-I told you..."_ she sassed weakly, _"It's better to leave me behi—"

_**"Tsipporah, I will hear no more of this,"** he raised his voice to her and opened her eyes a little like she misheard him._

"Connor, you're raising notoriety here—"

_"Then shut your mouth until we leave Boston." She then clapped her mouth shut, wrinkling her brow. Connor kept walking ahead until he was near the docks, holding a stubborn grip on his friend for dear life. Friend... Since when did he think of her as a friend? He took a moment to look back at her face to be certain that she wasn't going pale or dying. He shook her a little to see if she was still awake. Her pulse was still steady... for now. His hand brushed a small patch of snow that must have fallen on her face when they fled. "Tsipporah... stay awake. I still need you..."_

_"Over here!" Connor heard a man's voice commanding him, so he cautiously went towards him. It was a middle-aged man in a navy coat. He didn't seem British nor hostile. "You're Achilles' boy. Connor, was it? I saw what happened at the Town House. A fine mess that. And who is this? Ms. Martel, I take it?"_

_"Who are you?" he held his observer tighter to his chest._

_"Samuel Adams, at your service," he answered, "Achilles asked me to get you out of Boston."_

_"Explain."_

_"The whole city's looking for you..." he nodded to the wanted posters being put up and announcers calling out about a native starting the shooting on King's Street. This was bad. If his observer was awake enough, she'd give him an earful. He then turned to Sam on what he should do, which was plainly simple: to take down the posters and bribe the ones responsible for spreading the news. Connor thought this to be dishonest, but what choice did he have? His companion needed medical attention, so his options were getting narrowed by the second. Sam saw that his hold on the girl was getting pretty anxious. The man sighed._

_"The more I carry you about the city," the boy mumbled to the teen, "the colder you seem to get..."_

_"Perhaps we should send her off first, eh?" he waved to someone in the shadows, "Surry, you mind taking a look at this young woman. She needs medical attention. Connor, this is Surry. She's very skilled in handling serious injuries. Your friend here will be safe, but we have some extensions of the city for you to see under these circumstances."_

_The young man's eyes nearly lit up as if he's learned the secret of raising one from the dead. He nodded gladly, handing over the novice to the negro woman who held a kind face. She pulled off her coat to cover the young girl in her arms, backing away into the shadows once more._

_"Don't you worry now, Connor," she smiled, "Yo' friend is in good hands. She'll be back at the man'r 'fore you know it."_

_Even as she said this, strolling away carefully until she was some distance away into a horse and carriage, he oddly felt a bit empty. Sure his partner was safe, but he would have to go at this alone to see what to do to lower his notoriety. It somewhat bothered him that that irritating, skull-riddled young woman wouldn't be riding out this whole excursion with him. A part of him started to feel a bit lonely as he went his way, ripping at the wanted posters. Her words of complaints of making himself stick out like a sore thumb echoed in his head. Somehow, through this little venture, he started to go back on how they first came to the manor, staying at the stables to rest. She was grateful for every meal he brought, every time he wrote something correctly, and even gave a rare, natural smile when she would touch him just for fun. He hated that every time... just then, when he held her fragile body, he felt a strong desire to keep her close—to protect her still. She probably felt the same for she did not push him away. In fact, no matter how she would keep a wall around her, she would never resort to pushing him away. That girl must have made up her mind to give her life for his sake. Connor smiled to himself, sensing that he would have a newfound respect for this strange girl._

_..._

_"How is she?" the native boy demanded to know. Surry shushed him for the young girl was sleeping on minced herbs and potions. It took longer than expected to get back to the manor. He had returned the next morning, running up the stairs to Tsipporah's room to see if she was alright. To his relief, she was sleeping rather soundly (and by soundly, she was snoring loudly). His eyes kept their gaze on her intently as if she was going to keel over any minute now. His keen senses could smell the scent of blood from the air with hints of metal behind it, causing a lump to grow in his throat. The novice must have suffered through the night perhaps. Surry could see the worry in his face and smiled, clapping her hands together._

_"Now listen here, child, she'll be awake fo' you know it," she reassured, "Now Achilles is coming back from his walk. You need to get back ta trainin' and I need to make Adams some breakfast. That man'll starve."_

_The woman left the room, eventually leaving the manor as well when the boy heard the door open and close downstairs. Connor walked closer to the teen's side as her snores started to quiet down. Despite her boisterous sleeping, he started to notice something different about her. Was her face always this unblemished; this aglow? There was a strange calmness in it that brought about a mysterious tremor in his chest. His lips unconsciously parted when brushed a lock of hair away from her face. Looking at this girl now, he realized that she looked better without the strange, dark shadows she would powder around her eyes. And she was a bit more slender than she was then when they first met. The native boy shook his head as these thoughts came to pass. No. This girl was insufferable... but she put herself in harm's way for him to live another day. He cut away from his thoughts when he felt the bed rustle._

"...Connor...? Man, what happened last night...?"_ Tsipporah croaked, rubbing her eyes. The apprentice stopped her before she let herself sit up. Her sudden movement caused some pain to channel from her leg to the rest of her body, sucking her teeth in response. "**FUCK!**_ Ugh..._ Yep. I remember now."_

_"Do not move so hastily," he warned, "Surry tended to your wounds and left to return to Samuel Adams. He helped us escape Boston."_

_"_Samuel Adams?!_ As in one of the Sons of Liberty?_ Ah, man..._" she pouted, plopping her head back in the pillow, darting her eyes about to see that she was in fact back at the manor in her room. Her lips sputtered, trying to think back on what may have happened after she felt dizzy losing blood. A flinch passed her body, recalling on bits and pieces. "Did I say something or do something when I blacked out."_

_"You claimed that my life was worth saving more than yours," he said bluntly, "Why do you ask?"_

_"Oh, well, I thought I said something embarrassing, haha..."_

_"Like what?" he actually seemed interested in what she would say._

_"Like some cheesy bullshit like: 'your forest scent appeases me and your warm embrace makes me feel safe' or something like that."_

_"Do you really feel that way, though?" The Goth immediately stuffed her head into her pillow like her life depended on it. Maybe letting her die of blood loss was a better way to go. She was sure that all the blood she could have lost was going to her head. "This entire time I believed that you and the old man were against me—that you would help me train, but did not care nonetheless. Now I see; I understand now that my well-being does matter to you and for that I am grateful." She wanted to cry into the pillow now, but wasn't sure if it'd be out of joy or hysteria. His words sounded so sincere, so caring. Her pride wouldn't let her throw her arms around him. Suddenly, the cushion was pulled away so that she was staring Connor in the face. It confused her for a moment why he looked so mesmerized._

_"You look much better without that tribal paint."_

_"It's called '_eyeliner_'."_

_"Well, your face is in no need of it; it is better off naked." The Goth snorted when he said _'naked'_ so innocently._

_"Thank you, Connor, but I wear it as a preference. You're not the first one to tell me this."_

_"But you are already beautiful without it. Why wear it?" The teen stared at him with big eyes and they boy barely flinched. Did he just call her beautiful? Her heart skipped a beat, trying to compute his words and expression. He didn't seem to be teasing her either—he really meant every word. She immediately flipped herself on her stomach so her face was in the mattress. The boy sighed, shaking her shoulders. "Tsipporah, look at me."_

_Before she could answer, the door opened downstairs. It sounded like Achilles walking in by the thudding of his cane along with footsteps. A fierce anger grew on Connor's face thinking of him. If not for the old man's leave, going back to the manor wouldn't be such a hassle. He stood up from the bedside and went for the door. The teen got on her forearms, finally looking to him. She could tell that he was about to tell off the old man; blame the whole thing on him for leaving them both in the city with little choices left to them._

_"Don't give him an earful, bro. It was just part of training. He didn't abandon us—"_

"Endangering your life is not part of training_. You could have bled to death or worse! And you defend him for that?" he slammed the bedroom door as he left, making the teen jump a little. Swallowing a lump in her throat, she somewhat felt that her actions that night may have triggered some new attachment. Connor tread down the stairs with purpose, wanting to voice his anger to his mentor, but that girl...! Why would she defend the old man for? He did not get her out of Boston, stopped the bleeding, carried her away from enemies' eyes. She was abrasive, reckless, but too forgiving. It wouldn't change his mind about talking down his mentor, though._

* * *

Ratonhnhaké:ton had no trouble finding the tavern, but if he kept standing idly by, then he'd be in an inevitable brawl. He looked about the bluecoats who relaxed with ale in their hand, spewing prejudice and racist comments that were anything but subtle. When a man called out that he was taking any players to play a board game, the native spared no moment for he had to blend in quickly. Though_—_as per usual_—_the warrior silenced the man when he tried to have a friendly exchange. Well, he was in the middle of an eavesdrop. The bluecoats that sat near them practically gave him information with the way they were saying it proudly:

"Jimminy! Ol' Franklin's sending me out with another message!"

"Oh, you're in for it."

"Here's the worst of it_—_the message is for Putnam!"

"Christ! You're a dead mackerel!"

"Right. With either of those two, there's always some reason to end up flogged!"

"Franklin will give you the lash, and then Putnam will try to outdo him!"

"Something big is up. Only one ale for me. I have to get this to Putnam's lieutenant, or it's the whip. Or maybe worse!"

The messenger got up and left after downing a single ale. Once he got to the door, he bumped into another figure that caused his face to sour and laugh. More foul names escaped his lips in a mumble as the other walked in. The native man wanted to face palm for this woman would rouse suspicion. He quickly rose from his seat, knowing full well that he had to follow that messenger and steal the letter that he carried. Without pause, he made his way through the door, grabbing the woman that nearly blew his cover. Outside, he waited until the coast was clear to put her up against the wall in a manner that was spiked with anger.

"What are you doing here?" he growled. The novice smiled coyly.

"Blythe is worried about you."

"So you left the children alone and followed me here? What if the bluecoats found you?"

"Pfft..." she sassed, "Calm down, boss. Their cousins are watching them—they'll be fine. Their cousins... they're like twenty. God, I feel old—"

"Enough," he released his grip on her and walked ahead, "I need to catch up to the messenger. I must carefully steal the message from his pocket."

"Ok, babe. I'll be on the roof."

"This task is simple. You must return to the children at the safe-house."

"Do you seriously think our kids are afraid of some dudes with guns?" Again, she was being so stubborn to follow orders. It was no different from their training days and the days of the revolution. She would fight him as much as she would fight alongside him. It irritated him to no end. The Mohawk shrugged his shoulders in annoyance before getting threateningly close to her—which allowed her to see the fire in his eyes. It was then that she understood as she anxiously backed away into the alleyway. "Yep. Back to kids. Taking my short cut back. See ya later, hon. Love ya."

Ratonhnhaké:ton shook his head and turned back to the task at hand. It took some time to pursue the messenger to steal the message successfully, but it was done. He opened the letter to read its contents:

_"General Putnam,  
_

_There appears to be a misunderstanding regarding our respective positions and authorities. _

_A personal meeting is called for: at the docks, tomorrow, ten at night. The usual sentinels will secure our safety.  
_

_Yours,  
Ben. Franklin."_

He folded the letter back and carefully placed it back with the messenger, whom he found again via Eagle Vision. Tsipporah got as far as she could to avoid the range of his sixth sense. She ventured on the rooftops, watching him tread to the docks like the predator he is. The novice noticed how his footing was much faster than before. He'd be at one block then the next in a nanosecond. Must be that weird Jesus-Juice-Willow-Tea her daughter told her about. She trusted his skills to get his target, but his mercy on them was stifling. The air about him this time seemed different, though. He looked as if he was really out for blood. It raised some concerns. What if he was going mad and wasn't aware of it? These new abilities of the spirit animals were helpful, yet bit away at his life force should he abuse it. She trusted him... but not the tea. The Mohawk finally settled at the docks where there were ships under construction and stray bluecoats about. Stealthily, he made his way into one of the incomplete ships to watch for more enemies. Even more so—Benjamin Franklin. Tsipporah wasn't entirely certain of what he was up to, but he was waiting intently. She laid on her back on a rooftop, closing her eyes. If something was supposed to happen, then she'll wake right up. It was still eight in the morning, so what's to happen?

"Oh yeah," she chuckled to herself, "This is Colonial America. Bullshit will always happen."

* * *

Her brother wasn't at all happy that Blythe had her mother involved in their father's business. She knew very well that this is what gets them fighting each other in the first place. The last thing they needed was two dangerous people going at each other. Despite all this, she slept in the corner soundly; rather snoring loudly for a little girl. Karontara:ken approached quietly with an blanket of animal fur, placing over his young cousin's shivering body. Once she felt the presence of its warmth, she snuggled into and snored a little lower. Moses huffed angrily to the air. Father would be livid knowing that mother went after him. Way to go, Blythe. Way to go.

"You seem angry, brother," Onerahtase'ko:wa pointed to the young boy, "Are you worried for your father?"

"I'm afraid it's more complicated than that..."

"Family is always complicated, is it not?" Ken'tarakonha:ka joined in, "If it is about your mother pursuing your father, then he has every right to be bothered as do you."

"Just like mother..." Moses whispered and looked to his cousins with a smirk, "Mother would be furious should she find that I would speak ill of her, but... like mother, like daughter. Blythe would always worry about father's well being as she does for mine. They do not understand that we are capable as males. Unlike my sister here, I look before I leap." The brothers laughed in unison in understanding.

"If anything like our mother, she worries just as she breathes—constantly," Karontara:ken adjusted his tomahawk, "She does not fear anything, but they cannot help it and neither can we. Women are equals. They are just as fearsome. Your sister may believe that you are strong and will support you until you realize what you are capable of. Do not push her away just because she worries. These are hard times. We all must find our strengths."

It was then that Moses started to feel the fatigue get to him as a yawn escaped his mouth, covering it with his hands. His cousins looked at each other and smiled. They looked back to their own father who was speaking some plans with Samuel Adams and other redcoats. Ken'tarakonha:ka removed his winter shawl and placed it on the little one's shoulders who was fighting the sleep his body was receiving.

"Rest, brother," Karontara:ken, "Soon, you shall find your strength."

* * *

**Hey, people! Sorry I died from wondering how many words I should put into this chapter. Had a writer's block. :'(**

**At least the Redemption chapter got me pumped, so I'm going halfway through the next chapter! So... the cute triplets that Kateri had? Now all grown up. Makes some characters feel a bit old, huh? Well, I got some bad news: you will cry the next episode. **

**See you next chapter! :D**


	8. Sequence 08: Pig Pepper

_"Curiouser and curiouser!" cried Alice._

**Lewis Carroll**

* * *

The novice stopped herself from falling asleep completely for she heard a ruckus from where her beloved must be. There was frantic yelping along with desperate running. She looked over the edge of the roof to see who it was and lo and behold, it was Benjamin Franklin with an arrow in the back of his shoulder. The novice couldn't help but grimace at how painful that must be. Then there was her husband coming after him like it was no big deal. The chase continued until they were right by the roof that she was on._ Fuck_. He'll have a fit if he were to catch her here, but with his keen ears now, he'll find her very easily. The Mohawk removed the arrow from Franklin's shoulder, but as he did this, a bluecoat tried to sneak up on him to strike him with a bayonet. Instinctively, she jumped off the roof and struck him with the bone-saw. When she looked up, she found Ratonhnhaké:ton frowning upon her with narrow eyes filled with anger.

"Your welcome," she said, deadpanned.

"I am not surprised to see that you are still here," he drew a pistol and pointed it at Franklin, "Come with me."

"My God, what have we done?" Franklin said frantically, "I became a monster. It was as if Washington had some, some great power." The native was losing his patience with this man and started to push him forward with a pistol pointed at his back. "He clouded my mind ... he, he ..."

"I don't want to hear it," he retorted, "Come with me!"

They continued to walk, but Franklin kept talking as if it would help him in anyway. To the novice, it was certain that he was telling the truth that he was being controlled by Washington. He seemed less menacing than he was back at the warehouse. In fact, he seemed more meek in defense. On the warpath, a line of bluecoats appeared in the distance. The lined up to fire with someone in different clothing standing in a stoic manner. The novice stopped for a moment, watching the figure ready her own musket. It was a familiar face...

"Angie?" she called out, stepping forward.

**"Stay where you are mongrel!"** she responded. The novice twisted a brow.

"Oh yeah... people don't know us here..."

**"Release our beloved general!"** she warned in a sharp voice, **"If you chose not to do so, then I will order these men here to blow you to kingdom come!"**

The two professional killers sighed in annoyance when this woman glared at them, readying her bayonet as the other bluecoats were ready to fire. Her husband spared no moment to release his wolf aid to attack the men, leaving Angie aghast in disbelief. AT first, she flinched at how she heard growling of beasts from nowhere, then her men being bit away by the air as well as violent torrents of blood sprayed from their bodies. Franklin gazed at the sight in both fear and amazement. Never has he seen such a thing where men would fall to otherworldly forces. As soon as Angie caught a grip on herself, she narrowed her eyes not in fright, but in a taunt.

"So it's like that, huh?" she chuckled, "I guess I underestimated you, _savage_."

"Bitch, what the**_ fuck_** did you just call him?"

The novice never thought she would hear such an arrogant speech from her own companion, but the warrior knew better. This place was different. Tsipporah readied her weapon in case _Angie_ wanted to try some funny business—which inevitably happened. They expected her to attempt to gun them down, but instead she raised her hand, lifting some heavy crates around the dock. The novice cursed silently before one of the crates landed in on them, forcing the group to scatter. Ratonhnhaké:ton, however, was as persistent as ever; dragging Franklin along with him. Evading the wrath falling on them wasn't enough, though for some of the supplies in the crates were explosives. While all were distracted and focused on getting a few steps back, Angie had time to ready her rifle, firing on the gunpowder near the native. The novice started to panic, throwing herself on the blonde before deciding to hold her weapon at her throat. The enemy still managed a cocky smirk despite being pinned on the ground.

"Tsipporah!" the Mohawk appeared from the debris left over along with Franklin still as a hostage. The novice turned back for moment as she heard her husband's voice, glad that he was unharmed. A smile almost came on her lips—

"Ms. Burke, _please_!" Franklin cried out and the novice furrowed her brows in confusion before turning back to the blonde... who impaled a bayonet knife into her abdomen. Ratonhnhaké:ton felt all of the air escape his lungs at that moment as if he had been impaled instead. The soldier pushed the novice off and got to her feet, whipping the blood from her blade.

"Let's try that again," she pressed her foot against Tsipporah's face to the cold, hard ground, "Release our beloved general, or your partner here will die. I promise you: it will be slow and painful."

"Now, Ms. Burke, I implore you," Franklin raised his hands in lecture, "Leave that woman alone as well as this man;_ that is an order_."

"He shot you with his savage arrow—"

"Then I shall intercept," the Mohawk warrior raised a loaded pistol to Franklin's back and lowly growled, "Release my woman or I will kill you both."

The blonde almost raised a cocky smirk, lifting her chin... _until she heard beastly growls at her feet_. Looking by her legs, there were wolves that were invisible to the naked eye that were incur their master's wrath on her. The look in their eyes were neither inhuman or beastly—they were simply not of this world and could not be defeated. Ms. Burke turned back to the savage with a sneer. For the first time in serving Benjamin Franklin, there was someone that was both highly gifted and cunning. She almost wanted to praise him for being so sneaky, but her pride wouldn't allow it. Carefully, she lifted her foot from the novice's face, dropping her rifle in the same instance. The wolves forced her to step away, but were ready to tear her to shreds if she tried something. Once she was a fair feet away, one of the wolves dragged Tsipporah's body towards the native. Franklin sighed in relief as he saw the woman still breathing. Suppose she passed out from the shock. The native knelt down with his pistol still up as he threw his beloved over his shoulder. It made him smile inside that her hand still grasped her weapon so tightly.

Now the warrior had two hostages as he made his way back to the safe-house, though, one of them he was disappointed in. Then again, this was no surprise that Angie would deck her own friend in such a violent manner. Franklin explained along the way that he wished to atone for all that he has done; the pain that he's caused. At first, Ratonhnhaké:ton thought to bury his tomahawk into the man's head, but then he remembered Arnold's words. Perhaps now that Franklin is free of Washington's control, he may be of use.

...

"Ratonhnhaké:ton, my friend, you are back!" Kanen'tó:kon greeted his long time friend, but the gladness in him quickly died as he saw him bring with him Benjamin Franklin, his follower, and a wounded comrade. The little ones paled as their father put their mother down to lay rest. The two children sat still, watching as if they had already lost a parent.

"Is she... dead?" Blythe pointed her tiny finger to her mother's calm face that soon flinched as if insulted.

"You gotta be kidding me..." she moaned, "I survived childbirth, didn't I?"

"I shall deal with you another time," Ratonhnhaké:ton grunted in annoyance and his beloved responded with a glare. This is the last time she would go head first into something. Seemed to always work for_ him,_ but not her. Ms. Burke looked disappointed that her blow could not take that woman's life. Perhaps another day; or not. Franklin didn't feel as violent and strict as he was before. That savage must have done something to him while he shot that arrow into him. Some sort of poison perhaps? Adams spat at the sight of Franklin and wanted nothing more but his death. Kanen'tó:kon obliged, drawing his knife to Franklin's throat. Before anything could be done, Ratonhnhaké:ton interfered, saying that Franklin may help them in reaching Washington. Adams didn't look too comfortable about it, but there was no other choice. They couldn't stay here in Boston nor could they go up against Putnam and his men. Their supplies were depleting rapidly among other issues. The member of the Sons of Liberty shrugged his shoulders, recalling someone else who could assist them. It is said that the Captain at the Boston Neck Fort is secretly sympathetic to the rebel cause. However, the help from him must also be done in secret. Franklin suggested that he could help from there. Adams narrowed his eyes in pure hatred.

"With all due respect, sir, " Ms. Burke interrupted, "You have had many savages sent to New York and others slaughtered—including those who opposed the king. The king sees all. _Would it be wise to go against him_?"

"I see you're still a narrow-minded ho," Tsipporah got to her feet, holding her wound, "Then again, you're usually not in any kind of revolution for the fight for freedom..."

"How dare you...!"

"As long as there's salty guys waiting to bone, you'll jump along for a ride or two," she huffed/hissed at the stinging pain.

"Enough," Ratonhnhaké:ton wedged himself into the spark of a quarrel. Both women huffed, turning away, mumbling insults to each other. Franklin continued to explain the architecture of Washington's palace and special protections that he designed. Although, there had to be a specific metal of a precise weight to be fetched. The Mohawk decided to take up on the errand of finding this piece of metal that Franklin mentioned to be with his most trusted blacksmith. Adams' thought this to be a fool's errand, but what choice did they have? The native took a moment to turn back to his beloved and children. He butted heads with his son, but Blythe turned away coldly. Tsipporah used a free hand to take her by the jaw.

"Lil' girl, you better say something to your father!"

"Hmph," he sniffed, "This is why I was not too concerned for your injuries. Do not force her to talk to me. I understand if she chooses not to speak to me forever." His wife scoffed at him as he stood to walk away.

**"You're okay with tha**—_AAHah..._ shit, _ow_..." she groaned as she stood up suddenly, her vision blurring immediately and Franklin went to her side to keep her still from fidgeting. "I swear, that man got more busy after Blythe was born."

"Please, keep still," Franklin held a cloth to her wound, "Your vitals weren't hit; Ms. Burke stayed true to her warning shot. I am sorry for the pain I have caused for you and your children. My, I did not even know that you were capable of having children."

"What. The. Fuck..." she wondered if he meant that in a completely ignorant manner, "Ben, I will shank you—"

"Well, a person of your stead, we did not expect you to even bleed. Washington wanted your belongings in the first place because you create dangerous situations for him. Such as your attempt to steal the Apple from him—"

"What..."

"Well, you and the Mohawk woman tried to steal it from Washington in New York," he explained further, "Do you not recall such events? Or perhaps you were of another mind in those times?"

The novice didn't bother to answer because that was most likely the case. This was a different universe of course; it was no wonder that there were things that she had to guess or fill in the blanks even as her husband did. Apparently here, Connor stayed with the natives and never met most of the colonists that they did now. From what she heard back at the warehouse, he may have not met Achilles or help rebuild Homestead. Ziio was alive until Washington wiped out the village some days ago. Filling holes were quite easy since her love of adventure, stories, and puzzles vexed her so; but since things were starting to make sense (she guessed), it could only mean more danger. Her only mechanism to really piece things was comparison to already gathered knowledge. This world... seemed to much like Wonderland. Just nothing of ruin of man's psyche of aging. _Could this be the psyche of Connor...?_ No, she may be over-analyzing. A sharp sting from the wound finally snapped her out of her thoughts and took notice to most of the men in the room taking leave or already gone. Adams was no longer present nor was Kanen'tó:kon and his sons. It sort of made her feel a bit bad for getting so caught up that she didn't say goodbye.

No, Kanen'tó:kon is dead. In reality he is dead. She saw him die. She saw Connor regret every moment of that day and blamed Lee for it. More or less, he wanted nothing more with Washington either. It was surprising that despite telling him that she was told that his village would be endangered still, he would not give her up. Even after spoiling so many truths that was hidden from him that Juno forced her not to divulge, he would still have her. The novice bit her lip in anxiety; still anxious that maybe these following events were just a compacted result of her confessing one too many truths of his purpose and role. Her wound eventually patched up by Franklin, she sucked up more air as she tolerated the onslaught of pain under her lungs.

"Ista," Blythe nuzzled into her side, "When you met papa, did you mind him doing dangerous things?"

"Eh, yeah," she bluntly answered. It was the honest reply anyway. When they first met, he was already the best hunter in his village. Pretty good for his age, too. The novice on the other hand... not so much. "The only thing I could kill back then were flies. The more time I spent with your father, the more I learned to defend myself... and people."

Her daughter gave her a skeptical face as Franklin went ahead to wrap her torso.

"You two were of the adventuring sort?" Franklin asked.

"No, the if-you-touch-me-I'll-rip-your-god-damned-head-off sort, but why are you so curious anyway?" she eyed the ex-general of the king and he only shrugged his shoulders.

"It was merely a question. When he looks at you, he does so with a fierce passion as if he is ready to die for you at a moment's notice."

Tsipporah gave a small smile, either to note that he literally would, but then again, he would do such things for any of his friends. The look on his face when she was wounded was no different. In fact, every time there was a close call, he would look so serious and try to maul the hell out of whoever attempted to kill or harm her. Her children snickered at her expression.

"Just out of curiosity," Ms. Burke came in between the two, "How's it like with a native man?"

"You know I got questions, too," the novice snapped, her children shriveling away, "The fuck you shoot me for?"

"Because as the Spirit of the Great Willow, you are a threat to our King and General Franklin!"

"Pfft... it's not like I—Wait... what?" the novice had to look over what words passed her ears. Blythe pulled the blonde away.

"My mother is...?"

"It is so. Did you not know? She commanded for that Mohawk woman and gave power to those natives to go up against the King. It's how the natives remained safe for all of these years. Just look at her hair: white with the red of that devil tree."

"Whoa, bitch," Tsipporah waved her hands out, "You're saying that the tea my daughter's been bragging about is practically me?"

"I guess you didn't know after all. King Washington—"

"Ms. Burke! Please. We will explain everything later. Right now we must stoke the fires for when Ratonhnhaké:ton returns with the metal piece that I require." The novice bit the inside of her cheek at the fact that a handful of colonists are so close to the natives in this dimension that they can even pronounce their names. This is rich. "Miss, the wound is not so serious, but it would be wise to stay here and rest for a while. We will all be sitting here for some time. Ms. Burke, see to it that she doesn't force herself. I will return with some firewood."

The blonde nodded to the given orders as her general stepped out for the nearest patch of firewood. Most likely, to the next house that contained an open oven that would be perfect for melting and shaping hard metal. It was just the women and children now; not that the men should worry anyway. However, it was not in the novice's inner nature to stand still now that more holes were unknowingly filled. So she is the spirit of the Great Willow Tree. The tree said to drive man mad by the brewing of its tea. So... what does that make her in Wonderland? The Mad Hatter? :D

Her children started staring at her restlessly.

"Alright, what's wrong?" she sighed dramatically, "Are you hungry? I still have beef jerky."

"No, Mother," Moses spoke, "There are things I collected that might help father. I'll explain when we have time."

"Explain what?" the blonde judged, "What are you mongrels up to?"

"Ignore the ho, son, she doesn't know the difference between a human and an animal species. Anyway, staying here is not too much of a wise idea."

"But mother! Father said to stay put."

"I tell him that, too, and he still went out to kill Charles Lee," she fussed, getting to her feet, "I'm gonna go find that son of a bitch."

"Wait! Ista!" Blythe pulled her sleeve, "I want to come, too."

...

The start of this venture was no longer a surprise. The blacksmith that was loyal to Benjamin Franklin was Big Dave. Blythe nearly lost her composure just seeing him, so her mother had to do all the talking. Apparently, her husband went through to him about the metal, but it was already given away to a bluecoat's horse in the form of horse-shoes. The novice scratched her nose, turning on her heel to the direction of the citadel. Her daughter was a bit on edge, knowing full well that her mother was still suffering from an injury. Every time she mumbled or brought it back up it was immediately shot down as an unimportant subject. Though, the novice had to smirk at how much of a worry-wart her daughter was as she was when she was a child. Somehow, her thoughts drifted back to the training days she'd spent with Connor... well, before he was given a new name anyway. He could care less what kind of injury he would get; he'd continue on his warpath in spite of it. A sudden, distant line of gunshots sounding in the far reaches of the air broke her away from her thoughts along with men shouting.

"Mother! Look!" Blythe's little finger pointed out at a wounded horse galloping frantically down the lane and straight for them. Tsipporah gasped, dragging her daughter out of the way, forcing them to trip into a pile of hay. The novice hissed at her own injury reopening due to the brash and reckless movement. Blood began to stain the thin strands of the hay as they both got out. She could have sworn there was an angry snarl behind her, yet all she saw for the moment was Blythe giving a sneer and turning her back to a looming shadow. Well... guess it wasn't a bluecoat.

"Hi, honey," she cracked a tight smile that was winning her absolutely nothing at this point, "Blythe and I were just a bit cramped in that safehouse and we—"

"Save it," he bumped her shoulder as he passed by, trying to tail the horse. There was no forgiving her after this, she thought. Her daughter snickered at how guilty her mother looked, earning her a smack outside her head.

"Ow!"

"Let's just get back, babe," she suggested, "Daddy's gonna have mommy's head if mommy doesn't listen."

"Be quick, my patience is wearing thin," a stern voice at the end of the lane called out. The novice flinched. He actually waited? Isn't the mission more important? The mission was always more important. "That horse couldn't have gone too far, but neither could you as it seems."

He walked closer and the novice couldn't piece together what he said until she looked down at her reopened wound. The blood stained most of her blouse and reached to her collar. The little one gasped at how fast the blood was spreading without her noticing before. In seconds, her mother felt light headed, but was quickly caught before falling into the cold ground. The Mohawk brushed the stray hairs from her face.

"I told you to rest, you fool," he sounded more worried than insulting.

"...Bluecoats..." she heard more gunfire closing in on them, "They must have followed you. Blythe, go back to the safehouse!"

"No, you are going as well, you are too wounded to fight."

"And how many times have I said that to you, huh?"

Obviously, his stubbornness is contagious. He still wondered why his beloved would wander about despite her grave injuries. She would be an easy target, seeing that she was in the King's interest. He still did not know why. Thoguh, he could not ponder of it now; not now that there were bluecoats pouring into the streets like rain. Blythe pulled out her grandmother's hunting knife, putting herself into a stance. The novice suddenly got to her feet, darting into another direction where there were few enemies lurking. Ratonhnhaké:ton sighed gruffly as she went her own way, leaving him behind. He then turned to his daughter.

"Go back to the safehouse!" he shooed her off and she obliged. The little one knew that her mother found one of_ them_ if she ran off so suddenly with a serious wound. She'll return soon, she hoped. In that time, the warrior used his abilities given to him by the Great Willow to fend off his foes. They were no match of course as they fell one by one. It pleased him to know that his opponents underestimated him—their arrogance made them easier targets. Their blood tainted the ground they fell on as they spilled from the gashes on their lifeless bodies. A tired breath passed his lips as his wife returned as abruptly as she left. She held some item in her hand. It looked like a sword belonging to the British.

"I found... one of them..." she huffed, falling to her knees. The native quickly got to her side, grasping her shoulders.

"Found what? Why did you run off so suddenly?"

"I—_ah, shit_!" He collected her in his arms and went into an unoccupied alleyway. It was better to not continue any conversation out in the open.

"Your recklessness will be the death of me."

"_My_ recklessness?" she raised her brows.

"Why did you run off?"

"...Moses. He..." the wound started to get to her, "He believes that he's found a way to get out of this place. He found these things... _Lucid Memories_ that belong to you. Moses believes that it would be the key to getting out of here. Your mind created this place by the projection of something. He doesn't know what yet. I don't know yet. But I have a bad feeling that there's something else—Ah! Connor...?" He suddenly wrapped his arms around her tightly as if she was going to disappear just as promised when he completed his task as an assassin. For some reason, the pain of losing all came back. Tsipporah tried to back out at first, but feeling his bare back felt a bit... weird. She still couldn't get used to this outfit he had on. "Oh my God, babe. Not here. I'm bleeding and not in a natural way either."

"I will take you back. At least the bleeding did not last."

He picked her up and went out into the street once more, quickly getting inside. It didn't matter where. They had to hide somewhere. More bluecoats were pouring into the streets because of his little misadventure. What's more is that the horse carrying the special metal ran off. No doubt they'll find it in no time. Whatever the case, it would be hard to focus on a mission when a close comrade is injured badly. At first, he would worry for this girl, but now she seems to jump at the opportunity to gain more scars. How foolhardy. He shook his head, placing her down in an abandoned house and getting straight to putting pressure on her wound. She shouldn't be awake with the amount of blood that she's losing. She should have passed out or something. The novice kept looking away as he worked on her; trying hard not to be alarmed about his hands brushing about her torso, careful not to ignite pain. Breathing slowly, she wondered if the children would be alright. After all, there were bluecoats scattering like roaches at a dump. At least she got what she needed; gripping the old British rapier in her hand as if her life depended on it.

"I must find that horse before the Patriots do," he sighed, finishing on cleaning her wound, "Stay here—and I mean it." He enunciated every last word as if he was speaking to a delinquent. " I cannot have you die."

"The safehouse isn't too far from here, dude—" The native came in close to her face as a predator would. She almost thought she heard him snarl.

_**"You will stay here and wait for me."**_

"..._okay_..." she shrank away the best she could until he got and left. Tsipporah exhaled like she was holding her breath for days on end. He hasn't spoken to her since the day she spilled the beans about erasing him from existence or when she was acting haughty around him. Well, that changed. There wasn't that much arrogance in her like before; only a pool of worries. Once she had found a kindred spirit in him, she feared for his life. Connor would go in head first into anything. Tsipporah huffed through her nose, still remembering how she had to explain why she would not visit him the six months he was at Dr. White's infirmary after killing off the last of the Templars. Since she was going to explain everything, he would have her explain that.

...

_"I'm just explaining all you had to know," she fussed, "You wanna know why I never visited you? Ask Angie."_

_"I am asking you, _Tsipporah_," Connor took her arm abrasively, "Do not turn your back to me. Now explain. If you will not tell me anything—"_

_"My reasons have nothing to do with the First Civilization. _My reasons were personal."

_"So personal that you will not tell me...?" the novice thought she imagined his voice breaking. She felt her own eyes glaze over thinking back on those days he was at the clinic. He had a lot of friends that brought him everything that he needed to be brought back to health. She should have come to visit him, too, she knew that. After all that he's done to aid this country in its revolution, she should have done something as a thanks, but she didn't. Her place as an observer made it to painful to even do something so simple._

_"I wasn't even brought along with you to record Charles Lee's death like I was supposed to," she said quickly, "I know you didn't need any help even if you were cut to ribbons, but every time I'm pushed away, I felt like a nuisance. And I would be going back to my own time anyway. I was between no longer being needed and never seeing you again. It would have been too painful to spend the last few months like it was the end of the world." The grip on her arm lifted, but the novice did not care... not until she felt strong arms weave around her from behind into an embrace and his cheek pressed against hers. "Connor, I know we're in a relationship right now, but I feel a little too squeamish—"_

_"_Quiet_," he growled into her ear, "I feared for your safety that day. Lee had you imprisoned for several months; you've no idea what I thought he would do to you. What his followers would have done..." Again, she felt completely selfish. She was starved and tortured for months for information as well as Angie. Her beloved's face was still, but she felt his heart beat erratically. It started to make her nervous, so she tried to slip out of his hold to no avail. "It was better to have my mission completed. If keeping you here meant that Templars would try to take you away from me—I would rather have you back to your own time."_

_"You make it sound as if I'm an object, dude," she scoffed. He held her tighter._

_"You're my _woman_; there's a difference."_

_"Well, whatever the fuck I am, you're kinda choking me, tree-hugger..." the novice wiggled a bit, "I can't clean the kitchen with you holding me like this." She paused for a moment. "Were you really freaking out when I got kidnapped? Like crying in the dark kind of—_eep!"

_Her jaw was forced upwards by a strong hand to face him. His eyes bore into hers as if he was digging into her very soul and every minute of it was pulling some air out of her. This hold didn't seem much of a clingy bother anymore. Now it just felt more and more protective. It's only been a few days since she stayed along with Angie, but she guessed Connor wasn't over about how he almost couldn't see her ever again. It was hard to tell how long they stood like this, but Tsipporah snapped from her thoughts the moment she felt lips brush against hers as well as a persistent pull on her buttons._

_"Connor..." he bit her bottom lip to reel her in, "I don't think we should... _on the balcony... in broad daylight."

"Stop talking,"_ he breathed._

* * *

Tsipporah opened her eyes, realizing that she drifted into sleep from digging in too deep into her own mind. There was rattling and bustling about the outside. She crawled the best she could behind the barrels, crates; anywhere she could hide. Bluecoats forced their way in the old house along with a space for someone else to make way. The novice's eyes widened when she saw who it was.

"I know I saw that injun in here carrying something," Putnam looked about with heated eyes, "It must be somewhere here and must be important. He's with the rebels. Must be a weapon of some sort. Can't be too careful."

The novice sucked some air in, not trusting herself to keep calm. Some men started to make their way to her general direction. All that was left was to brace herself, though, the next person that came on the scene puzzled the hell out of her...

* * *

**This is um... hard to get back to the story now that I have school. The next chapter shall come soon! Aquila here we come! :D**


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